Thursday, December 11, 2008

Good Night

Your touch...

Like a story unknown

Like the atheism forlorn

My being...

Embarrassed in a night’s cry

Like a shred of cloth you denied

My questions...

Lagging behind your exclamations!

My pauses..

Dreading your unkempt declarations.

I am collecting my senses from my obsession...

I will have to clean my wardrobe from longed conception...

So do we stop now?

Or start a new sentence?

And as I write, the breaks remind me

Of the dreaded future tense.

Tonight is the night that I change my hide,

My ring, my wet and my little eyes.

Tonight is the night when I change my name,

I have played enough, now I leave you untamed.




Anonymous said...

tonight I would like to know how imagination could be so strong that it doesn't need a real life muse? or is that the illusion?

Munazza said...

lol..there was a time when imagination was that its as bleak and tamed as before i was pulled into an illusion..but perhaps illusions come with an expiry did mine:D
but i soooo much wanna write againn darn it:D lend me your illusion if you have one;)