Thoughts fall like leaves,
rot like fruits without teeth...

I saw the moon,
next to her grave...

I write her life,
Wondering what they write of mine...

It was but a drop,
of tear...

Roses are red,
violets are blue...

My life is a snail trail of brokenness
where my dreams thirst for company of winds...

We never liked each other,
but yet, considered as brothers...

With a touch of passion
she mourned with love...

Color is only defined by the shade of our eyes.
You and I have least in common...

Life thread,
a flow of voices...

A soul,
so beat to its foul...

The air around fought back to keep me trapped by...
Where no holy beings found consolation to lighten...