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Poem


The day fell,  
and the night came,  
shrouding me in shadows,  
where silence echoed,  
and I stood alone,  
a solitary figure,  
lost in dark thoughts,  
weaving visions of a red-flamed future,  
glimmering like gleaming gold,  
but laced with despair.

Beneath the cold Kachikau winds,  
the breath of the late me swept through,  
carrying whispers of yesterdays,  
and the weight of a world aching,  
a bleeding earth,  
its crust folding,  
wrapping secrets in layers of sorrow.

I saw the end of the world,  
a collapse so gentle,  
like a rose wilting in the dry season,  
the future fading,  
petals falling,  
each one a memory,  
each one a promise unkept.  
The walls we built trembled,  
cracked under the pressure of our own making,  
the rock of my salvation,  
long weathered,  
her spirit eroded,  
whispers of strength now mere echoes.

The Kachikau horizons lay levelled,  
a barren canvas where dreams once danced,  
the times when you were with me,  
when I was with you,  
all but a flicker in the depths of time,  
a fire burned them to the depths of Sheol,  
consuming love, consuming light—  
I saw the earth fade,  
an artist’s brush sweeping across the canvas,  
leaving only shades of gray.

We dug a pit,  
and in our haste, we fell,  
collapsing into the very void we crafted,  
our hands stained with the earth’s blood,  
we made it bleed,  
our lips consumed us,  
entwined in a kiss of despair,  
a desperate embrace,  
where passion turned to ashes.

Now, the end of the world is near,  
a whisper on the wind,  
a haunting melody,  
and we,  
we are all fading,  
like stars swallowed by the dawn,  
our light dimming,  
our stories unfinished,  
as darkness wraps around us,  
an eternal shroud,

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