Blurred

Love is Intoxication.

:)

''The function of art work is the stimulation of sensibilities, the renewal of memories, of moments of perfection".

The Making of You

Penetrating it is,
the fake preacher's voice
Sober,
Condescending.

Vibrate, they do,
your pillars,
They break, or fall.

And then you doze
Time wakes you up
and again the sun rises,
Stretches itself,
clearing away the clouds,
memories, instances
you are yourself
but there's this weight,
confusion-that's the heaviest.
Like the weight of guilt.

Feathers stuck,
bees sting
You yearn, yet learn,
You see,
stars mock,
the fake innocence of the moon,
You search,
the invisible wind
desperately
pick up random butterflies

And then nature,
Smirks,
Finally
Shows it mirror to you
Broken pieces though
one by one
So you start seeing,
feeling
and filling
The pieces start completing
You;
Filling you
Peace, stillness
drag themselves
and make you complete
and then your tense bosom
finally breathes
full and easy.

Stream

There was never a start
and there will never be an end.

Let us walk,
let us walk.