The clear sky, turns to grey, blue and black. The wind brushes past my lips, I think it wants to kiss me. Why is my vision blurry? Is that smoke, have the napalms started to rain down on us? Or am I crying? The taste of butterscotch frosting and melancholy Is dancing On my dry, cracked tongue. The lotus is dying, my love, Won’t you come See it’s blood on the marshy land? I want to get out of this festering place, It smells of my sickness, and bile. There’s curdled milk on the kitchen sink, But I dare not touch it. A raven that looks too much like nostalgia, Sits on the dead tree outside my window. I think it’s judging me. I let it keep me company, Its caw pushes out the Deafening silence. I walk On thorns of all the roses You plucked for me. Their blood is on me, I want redemption for your sins. Whip my back with lashes, Shave my head, Punish me. I want absolution. Punish me. Sometimes, I try to feel happy, I weigh the syllables on my tongue, I force my lips to turn up, Let out a low rumbling sound ‘HaHaHa’ But it’s too much effort, beyond thirty seconds. Happiness is like leprosy I have noticed, It eats away sadness Bit. by. Bit. And I am not ready to let go of my sadness just yet. It’s like; My fists are filled with send that doesn’t slip, My throat is choked with ash, I can’t swallow. My jaw; is tied to my ankles. I am vomiting out ambrosia. I see you in hindsight: You’re chewing on my heart. I look up: The black sky, Turns to blue, grey And then it clears out. The light blinds me, I pull out my hair. The crow caws. The lotus dies. Is this what salvation looks like?

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Fariha
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Fariha

I love your poems Aymon

Yamna
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Yamna

I am in love with your words, Aymon. This is incredible.