This day you left me
And spring lost its flower forever
At early spring, young called never
Again in a low silent day,
I heard the crisping of a lost grasshopper

In a black and white glow dream
Far away from the silky moon sprung
There birds feathers were oping with high delicate
Though Pale petals were losing their pixel with pleasant
But the high divine melody colored the deep purple

Then another high spring fallen to light purple
Yellow flowers bloom on her pale face again
At Night mild murmur cools the heart of the passionate
And the Sunflower rises on the first shines of sun
Melts with a dream after a long winter washed

@ Musfiq us shaleheen

There once was a poet
who was very much alive
he'd write everyday
sometimes late into the night
his poetry was his craft
a never ending ascent into madness
a read of his work
was a trip into darkness

He was fascinated by death
by how simple it was
he imagined the light being as bright
as the white of a dove
he loved rhyming tricks
how they'd guide a reader
along a waterfall of words
the more the steeper

but he wasn't famous
he wasn't beloved
this tore him apart
and led him to what?
no i didn't hear that
a modern day Van Gogh
only 25
too young for him to go