Sunday, November 25, 2007

Encounter...

There she is, a red spot on a moor of grey
I see her through the blood stained glass
The city lies in ruins, innocence fails its prey
Stones are hurled; some even kiss the cherubic lass

There he is, a rocket scientist in communist Russia
Never has he smelled the rose, never would he
For a bullet was to pierce his eye, replace it
The romantic moment was to escape him like always

The snow flakes wait; anticipation carries them
Cold feet, hard hearts; they walk towards each other
The trees convoke to whisper a secret
The eyes; they have no sympathy, they blush with admiration

My hands are numb; my soul lacks its opinion
I guess there is nothing to choose among 'them'
A few moments and 'they' fly across the universe, if they dare
My ears ache for the gunshot, eyes envisage the release

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