Nothing
Not a single drop of ink on this white page.
Not a single drop of soaking silent tears
Not a single night of those haunted nightmares.
Not for you
Not for me
Not for these unspoken moments
Not for these improbable nights, when
Dreams turn almost true and magnificent
As a diffusing Arabian horse, melting in those fleeting clouds!
Shapeshifter swirling clouds of these butterfly imaginations of mine
Know you and me, very well.
They also know the hidden serpentine
Of the whispering darkness of our souls.
Yet, they promise to rise in colors, rainbows, and in the fluidity of dreams.
A silent night ensures that
Nothing is happening anywhere, out there.
Only an empty bottle cringes, somewhere.
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