How far could the manipulated games of the intricate architecture, seated under the skull ,govern the breathing of the heart by cajoling it with such meaningles quotes ? In reality, Tomorrow is a mirage, floating on the shallow surface of a myth ; TOMORROW never comes as it's a wishful flyer , hovering over the clouds of imaginations, wherein lovers meet in a quietude and hymns from the sky precipitate into the real
showers of blessings.Tomorrow is a slithery mask that falls off any moment to reveal the bitter truths of incapable parted companions who never met again.
Don't show me the dream of TOMORROW; for it's the parasite that has sucked the gifts of love and , it's on the track of gnawing more.
The floating tomorrow presents itself in our present and then slides in the past.....painting a spectrum of our oscillations in the space time continuum.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful writing. Congratulations!!! Let your ink never dry.