How can I ignore this darkness,
when I have nothing much to ignore it,
when I have been staying in the ashes of the blackness.
It’s not about whether you are right or wrong,
it’s always about what you believe in.
And I believe in my loneliness,
i believe in the simple smiles by the road,
I believe in the strangeness of a boredom.
As the heat transfers from the bed to the bones
and the skin starts falling apart like petals from a shameless flower,
you start hearing the sounds of a storm…
The rebels, the murderers, the maniacs,
the fighters of solemnity,
there’s a way to walk through rain…
make a memory out of it.
Now the darkness is flowing… windows rattling,
what a poet will do if he has to choose between annihilation and old musings?

…………………………………………………………….

Painting: David Maisel.

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