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Invocation


I owe you a multiple times for being the Wild flower
amidst the potted plants.
You seem to listen to the endless entities of night,
You seem to walk away from the ballet of wind.
Your magic is irreversible
And contagious.
Separated from the sun of the day, you are fond of the moon of the night.
Your footsteps seem to be the artwork of an amateur artist,
Yearning for applause.
Heartbreaks seem to be the rhythm of your heart,
Forming a walkable distance from death.
Your enchanting pupils seem to be ready to trap a
Whole lot of invisible things,
Beyond human perception.
Today you sing the songs of yesterday,
And tomorrow,the songs of today.
The lavenders of your garden are brighter than mine,
For the sun seems to be sleeping over your garden for a whole season.
I owe you for being the muse of
Desperate artists,
Kindling the fire in them,
Not leaving them behind to wither
And to be drained of all vitality.
I beg you,
Break my bones,
Hold my hands,
Take me to your hamlet,
Starve my ego,
Feed my soul,
Bring out my light,
Be my knight.
My swords are broken and rusted,
Before the last flames of my fires are being put out,
Save my soul,
Come and set new fires in my abandoned chambers
Let me resurrect, my muse.

A.C

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