The Seven Farewell

They were the worst tears I ever cried
They were the annihilation and nirvana
The door to the soul and out of it
The most precious, the seven farewells

One of seven, I smiled as I bode farewell
I was going away, and the splendid goddess
took revenge on me, for abandoning
I never told her that I was taken away

Two of seven, the soul was abducted
the prey fell in love with the hunter
It killed itself, for the killer's grandeur
The hunter went home empty hands

Three of seven, the river has it in memory
the fur, the white, the prayers all went wasted
It was not just departure, it was death 
The bridge then after always sang forlorn and empty

Four of seven, the heart stood on the line
It flow far above the seas and the mountains
just to be bruised, it hated the look of itself
and looked down on the dark of the hell

five of seven, heart and soul being down and dead
the chocolate, fumed body played the war
but then it was like so holy, but then it
gave the worst, worst, worst wound ever

Six of seven, the eyes came in play
the fairytales, the tears went away and wild
the dolls, the princess, the flowers and hanging garden
but then the princess was turn to clay

Seven of seven, the clay distorted from its shape
wore a mask, wore a smile, and stood look like the splendid goddess
with full of revenge, full of envy and punished
who seemed to go, who seemed to fail

One, two, three, four, five ,six, seven
The splendid goddess and her heaven
broke everything to seven
The colors then one, turned to seven
The one then became seven the seas
The seven heaven, seven keys
The seven, seven days
and herself into seven clays

It is Winter here

It is winter here. Cold, feathers of snow float and dance and then hit the ground. Their weightlessness is adorable, so pure, so fragile and so beautiful. The thin thread between the consciousness and existence, justifies life, while everything else seems to be dead. One moment it is snow, one moment it is gone. Killing beautifully everything possible, the strand of grass, the vitality of leaves, the strength from girth of trees and the life within the lives of so many. It is winter here, and the mind waders with the snow. Freezing with it and  melting with it. I have wandered enough now, to find the answers of the un--answerable. To find what it is not meant to be found. To find the sufferings and the healing. But how far one is supposed to reach beyond the borders of one’s own experience. May be that is the time when one starts to create false experiences. Starts to feel what is not real and not there and assume it to be true. May be then the whole thing starts.

It is winter here

And I wander,

Far far inside my head

Which is warm and wild

It is winter here

So I wander,

To keep  the snow off

From my sight

And remember my own coldness

Wondering

I wonder about the dead in the sarcophagus
They thought they were gone
but really?
they persist here, Unknowingly
it must be tragedy,
to be there for everafter
And have no choice to leave
How would they know
that going would be beautiful
and having a choice is even more---