Stop the world.
Ease in a second,
for the last remaining of this desolated consciousness
this feeling of: ‘to be.’
Learn another mode of measurement,
hidden
from the math of mundane concerns,
become a humble king
in the country of blinds.
Find the Athanasia of beauty
in the mine of your self-recognition.
Inhale the undying blossoms
in the withering petals of these blooms.
Touch the essence of their immortality,
their sparkle inside the ashes of their splendour.
Scent their amaranthine,
their cardinal virtues
like the rarest gems
amongst the abundance
of such loud imitation,
-seeming more refined
radiating more shine,-
though you recognize their splendours like an urge
that in you
recognizes your bloodline.
Pick them
As tiny unseen blooms,
as an ardent kiss,
that sparks and tears the darkness for good,
as a sheer smile,
so clear you can see her impulsions
as an 'I love you',
-that melts like sugarplums in the ears-
and see how they open the gates
of different inertia of mensuration,
where time never exists,
flowers never pale,
butterflies
never perish or fly away,
and the garden
is amaranthine only in its finest,
where sculptures are life,
life is still,
and fruits are unbitten,
consumed neither by teeth nor by the eyes of desires,
and sun
on the canvases radiates
as the age
in the slice of an old trunk.
where instants and lips
are
as brief as never-ending.
And whiteness with your eyes,
how perennials crystallize,
and how diamonds
are
forever.
