Sketches

Bless me with the eyes of A sculptor to

See the form in the

Stone.

Hack these skies with my bone 

And build a castle, my own 

My throne

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Hibiscus tea

The voices were floating

Lazy ghosts drifting to bed
Through the Crimson clouds of coveted spaces
Away from the sticky gloss of angelic paths
Or the glow that gives blood diamonds the look
To steal eyes and bind hearts
They were the moon
In a robotic motion
To completes its hijrah
From one nothing to another
Causing many somethings
The voices were meant for me
But they keep drowning in
my cup of tea.
The bitterness runs from my mouth
To color my head
and heart.