Nothing to Everything

You held my face in the chalice of your hands so passionately that you left scorch marks of your palms on my ashen visage. You were so focused on learning the colours of my eyes that you failed to see the vermilion tears that spilled from the cadaver painted in burnt timber. The sterling smile that you oh so adored, was a silent sob to let it fade and reveal the ruptured facade shoven underneath. The sound of my laughter deafened you to such an extent that you failed to hear the ring of howling plea that escaped my already strained throat. Those locks have been chopped off, isolated from my body forever as they were an augury of factitious glamour and unfelt passion. It pains me to confess that it is not white roses that were my covert cowling but those pale chrysanthemums. Infatuation with my  crimsons and goldens brimmed the walls of your cosmic castle so fervently that it left no room for my blues and greys. Look at your mural of us, it preens over our feverish fondness, now look at my mural of us, it stifles over our feigned forgery. You loved so earnestly that it burned down the walls of my trivial cottage leaving it in the wake of ashes. The fiery passion that flowed through your veins, inadvertently set my brittle corpse ablaze. You are a raging fire overwhelmed with life while I am a callous carcass choking under my own ashes. Now all that's left of me is woeful cinders dying in the flames of your dancing inferno, slowly fading from nothing to everything.

Ave Atque Vale

Ave Atque Vale

Ave Atque Vale

Everything to Nothing

I want to hold your face in the chalice of my hands so eternally that its texture carves into my palmes. I want to learn the colours in your eyes and paint the world with those shades. I want to engrave the site of your smile so deep in my brain, I could draw it in the clouds. I want the sound of your laughter to be the only echo pulsating through the walls of my cosmic castle. I want your hair to be the only thing entwined between my fingers, so familiar yet so staggering. I want your scent to encircle me how blankets of ghost white roses envelop a lamented gravestone.

For all that, now I can’t even remember the contours of your face, were they sharp or were they mellow? Were your eyes stained in the hues of rosy chestnut or burnt timber? Was your smile too bashful or too boisterous? My voluminous walls fear that they have gone deaf in the drought of your laughter, imploring, “where is the echo?” My fingers are dazed at their own bareness trying to understand, “where are the locks that draped our exposed corpse?” My gravestone was left wondering whether it wasn’t mourned anymore or whether its roses were bartered for chrysanthemums, choking down it asked, “where’s that perfume that banished the reek of death?” Now all that's left of you is a silhouette of the soul that dances in my memory like a haunted spirit in my cosmic castle,

slowly fading from everything to nothing.

                                                                           Ave Atque Vale

                                                                       Ave Atque Vale

                                                                      Ave Atque Vale