The departed, part too, from my cry Sikandar Abu Zafar

The departed, part too, from my cry Sikandar Abu Zafar The bloody angered gaze, burnt down history of my barren land Those years of mine Today whence a knife I hold strong Seeker of the precipice bleeding , slit throat What will be the use to muse along the cuddle? Of the rattling killer boa? Still in the pandora box? It is I who am to blame I own my key to my security You lift up your veil , indifference Where lasting silhouettes gather together, remnants The departed, part too, from my cry Meticulous a measured fit , among shoes within walkway Garnished a gift a floral bouquet, handed to your may A fragrant wishful one Never traced your truth in fathom in return The muse and your truest clues Only to fit the underneath inverse, a muddy constellation Today, the memory lane Insulting a pour hemlock door A bitter soul seeking solace from those clawed nocturnals of the dark. What is the use of a pleasant gaze Camouflaging the phantom with the laughter behind I am bruising with the loaded kind Exquisitely mine You , inhaler toxin of my airy dust, dispersing heavily so Wipe away your first alibi The departed, part too, from my cry THe unity when the dreamers dream Clouds came to soak first The blisters of the barren Off and on, the draught brought in Had me startled in taking preparation My compassion is your sophism PLus minus , quite surplused Decoded sheets with those covetous intricate shares, dusty Today, I dug my grave My own THe shovel of my skull Had a menacing lightening struck form What will it be to dwindle unsure Unresolved hatred in a sleepy volcano I will make them return the scars The clawed scar tissue that incurred a lot on me You shy away from my soil and water , a carpet sitting on green try The departed, part too, from my cry In Damascus (Short film)