Untitled …

Dreams are a fistful of glowing embers

burning the fate-lines on my palm;

I hold them dear

not to let them die of cold-


shoulders meant to rest a head

full of bruised imaginations,

carry coffins of hopes, 


fallen from a sky replete

with rollicking stars.


And the moon that swelled with pride

every night we conversed


seems to have suffered a memory loss

as it stares me blank,

its countenance oddly pale.


16 thoughts on “Untitled …

  1. Pingback: Untitled … | Tea Break

      1. Raheel Adnan

        Please do surprise us someday.
        Though life has been busier but sometimes I really miss your poetry.

  2. Conversation HAS become pregnant and words were never THIS stale. Am waiting for a newer life to bloom. Hope the wait is worth it.

    Keep visiting for you can so surely help 🙂

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