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 Sep 2020 Johnny's Brother
Edward
Where I am, I stand in your presence tonight.
Where I am, let your will always come first.
Where I am, as well as the rest of your people.
Where I am, may your Beauty always shine.
Where I am, may your grace always follow me.
Where I am, may your perfect peace fill me.
Where I am, there may you stay by my side.
Where I am, may your angels always hold me.
Where I am,  may you stay till you receive my soul.
Don't ever get down at Remount Road
on the train's brief pause.

Once I couldn't resist
when through the window
I can't say what beckoned me.

The sky after a drizzle was awashed blue
and its miniature carvings on the puddles
sprung from my steps like thousand dreams.

There on the unshaded platform
were faces as puzzled as mine.

I didn't intend to detrain here, I spoke,
we didn't too, the voices echoed
but it felt so like the place
we wanted to be but missed.

Walk me barefoot on the sodden earth,
a girl offered her hand,
recount to me the unfinished stories,
make me a home.

I won't miss this time,
I was crying.

I have recounted the story to many
but they all have eyed me
like I am mad.

They only repeat there's no Remount Road
on this route.
When I am lonesome,
I sit on a swing in the patio,
The moon gives me company,
And when she smiles,
Her glow lightens my heart.
8/9/2020
Sometimes it is within the chaos itself where you find the answers....sometimes it takes a turmoil to give you a sense of clarity...sometimes it is amongst the ruins where you find beauty...and all of this baffles you...and you wonder-'how is this even possible?'
Quite often you'll notice that the situations that are adverse or disadvantageous actually give you an insight like never before...'coz they not only reveal to you the reality of people around you...but by the way you handle these situations...they also tell you a lot about yourself.
Tears from the mystical sky
seeped in through my shoulder—
as I let its fervor tears
dampen my lowly soul;
he said, “hear me out”

The way it moves around
sailing toward to broaden
mysterious mists—the plastic clouds
covering most of the gleam of the sun
and the way he murmurs into my ears—
I can never get out again.

While strange stares pierced through
my core—a menacing way of
forcing unraveling fragile pieces
of my silent port, and there I
let a foreign one
travel his way through—
sailing beneath my springs.

On this day of August's chilly afternoon—
while the tears of the mystical sky
tumbles through my shoulder—dripping
my cold dry bones.
after a week of not writing.
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