The Nights of the Sun

Drifting away from the crashing shores, miles into a kingdom of closed fists and gritty lines, nothing would change there,
none would they glide over,
the dreams dressed in glassy robes, fragile as ice and strong as sea,
incredibly naive would they be,
as I drift away from the crashing shores…

In the songs of the silent moon, sands wet by seeds of naked happenings,
destiny of gloomy gods and gentle victories,
of rusty souls and salty wounds,
I drown wishing to win over,
once in a world glistened in the songs of the silent moon…..

Would my life be tired,
ushered in the chains of destiny,
to chaos waiting on the other end, staring and clinging on light that was unique,
and in air that stench was,
wandering through the foggy sky,
of a wonderment that echoed,
would my life be tired…

In it I saw myself, picturing a far side meadow, turning in a forgotten instant, to blurred deception and crossed creation, puddles of falling spaces and wishes of broken wells, and millions of miles, captured in a sea shell, and captured heart grinned vainly, and In it I saw myself..

Waking in the nights of sun, that time bowed down to the mirrors, it looked at itself and a realization patted, on it’s back to worldly dimensions, out of it’s reach and caged in a torn letter, from a soul cuddled on the cold pathway, tired of being someone that weaved some stars done , and aimlessly walking in the nights of Sun…

Author: Siddharth Naidu

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