Dead in Her Sleep

Through the panes of my bedroom window does,

the freckled, weak moonlight falls across,

Alighting my fair facial features,

Outlining harshly, its crevices and traps.

With my frail eyes do I gaze far out,

And down in the horizon, the fiery apple,

 Appears with a glint of hope for me,

Surrounded by tumult, that makes the two of us.

As the redness cuts across the sky,

It shies away the once-bustling white,

And with as subtle a stroke as the faintest of painters,

Emerges my sphere, my friend, my peer.

Its time but ripe for the two of us,

To die out, wither, from one horizon,

And hop on, without wait, into another,

And keeping our tryst thus with future.

I’m impatiently raring to be gone now,

And set abound onto another pedestal,

Of my very own eternal soul-quest,

Just like the blazing apple of my eye.

The saffron gleam fans right inside,

To fall onto my failing face,

My eyes are emptily open,

Only minutes to go for my day to break.

And right through the open panes of my window,

I fly away like a free, flying bird,

Into the immortal blue sky,

And bound I am no more, to flesh.

-B.M