A Fable; Part Three–The End

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But there were fireworks and this was the glory
For this is just another story
Slowly the Grey Rose would die away
And the Piano’s tunes, forgotten
The two—buried apart
And the memoirs will also fade
Yet the stars would still be there
And the moon, the sun
And the freckled sky
And somewhere would fly a Purple Dove
And a Blue Kite would fall in love with it
Glass will shatter and the pages will turn
Swings will oscillate and the pendulum will break
For such is love; a curious display

A Fable; Part One–The Flower

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From the shadows of the empty bed
And fires of the lonely nights
When the moon stood forlorn
Was born a Grey Rose
On the dusty and barren land
Which told tales not of love or lust
Nor of glee and freedom
Nor of togetherness
Nor did it speak of evil
Nor of sadness
Or for that matter–
morbid fabricated tales
Of love lost and death
It was a tale of a scavenger
A yearning
A longing and waiting
It was a reprise–
Of stagnated sheltered dreams

Ufaq

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I left myself at the nape of the road
I moved ahead, yes far ahead
When I looked back, I could see a speck
Which was myself
Yet I trudged on-wards
Until I amalgamated with the horizon
There I met You
And you were a speck too
So I looked to see myself,
I could no longer see anything
And when I looked at You
You were gone, and I met myself
But I could not touch myself
Neither could I turn into myself
Nor could I see, or touch You
So I cried a sea
And I became the sea while You became the sky
And I looked at You,
You looked back at me
I was You, and You were me
Thus we come to know how–
The Sky is a reflection of the Sea
And the Sea is a mirror of the Sky
And on the horizon even today
There stands a speck…

Wisp

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Sometimes I walk among the living dead
And I die a thousand lives
And when I come back to life
I talk to them and I laugh with them
And I love them and I fall in love with them
And when I turn back to see
I see all these faces
Of people that I do not know
And I don’t know their stories
Yet they have told me everything
And I heard
But I do not know them
They are strangers
And then there is myself
The strangest of them all
For they have seen me
And never loved me
And never fallen in love
And I am a wisp they all love
I am a stranger whom I do not know about

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Never is always
Always, never
Sorrows are fading
Fading, never
Memories are overpowering
Overpowering, never
Love is begotten
Begotten, never
Fear is forgotten
Forgotten, never
Life is death
Death, never
Happiness is love
Love, never
Never is always
Always, never

Shards

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Shards of broken down time
Your hand in mine
A blackbird flew over the trees
The mountains hid the sunset
Your hand in mine
Glory days which are and were
Next would be dunes of sand
Buried deeply in a death sublime
The broken dreams were bigger
Than broken shadows
And promises which were kept alive
Your hand in mine
Till the day I change the course
Of the tides
Till the day I turn into a stone
Till the moment I cannot wait
And see the devil I have become
And the purity quite there
Hidden under the world that was never

My hand in mine
And eyes drifting away
Watching the blackbird turn grey

Surrender

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Surrender now!
O ye ghosts of passion
For if the night sways forth
Then there will be crimes
And then ballads written
And yearning will take place
Like white crystals along a hazy daze
Or a black sky
And lanterns made of pearls
And red silken blood
So who will the daybreak take
As its rabid hero
Who hath turned into a villain
And so
All the bonds were broken
Among the filthy rags
Which we call men
Thus—
O ghosts of wisdom
Come take their place
Those who were dark wisps
Of grey