And If We Care Not Anymore

i'm afraid we might be making funerals of our our life's moon asking the night's darkness to become our medium of sight ask me— who sees this emptiness that the eyes speak of ask the saints of hell who worshipped the demons wholeheartedly, ask the demons of hell who worshipped Lucifer with all the drops of their blood ask Lucifer who worshipped his desires like God No one sees nothing even if there is everything to see— except light we will just keep moving like merry-go-round making rounds around an axle of lingering pains the image we carry in our face today does not approve of us and all that we carry in our heart but we are fools— denying the brightest truths gleaming right infront of our eyes our bodies— the skeleton of falsehood we carry our soul— a phenomenon of reccuring lies our essence— an untold truth we cover up with our egos— like the news of terrorism showing on the TV with bitter butter labels facading the actuality of time i am so (not) done with all of these! i have lost all of my tears to my helplessness my eyes have become fruitless today: my arid face desists to bear any of these fruits if it rains somewhere around here-- listen well, it might be hooves of camels stumping the dessert sandhill look well, it might be a sudden mirage casting a spell over your heart this territory has been plagued by rounds of dances enough to intoxicate death to sleep we are stories let dripping out of the ink of time— scribbling chapter after chapter— and making rounds as if time shall end never again. © Aboo-l-Marjaan