The Inner Sanctum

 

The wallpapered garden of hibiscus and jasmine, 

Scented with memories and an ever hopeful heart. 

The pen slips through these tired fingers, 

The head finally rests, released from this art. 

A dream at dusk, of orange, greys and blues, 

And night creeps in through the east window, 

In search of comfort, these seeking eyes,

Follows the silhouettes now forming through shadow. 

And in this sacred sanctuary of nostalgia and woe, 

The restless brain signals to its twin- the soul. 

A thousand different lights of amber and white 

Releases the being from its bony gaol. 

All stretched out now on some cotton and fluff, 

The limbs unbound of the burden of cloth, 

This body lies draped in a thousand different musings, 

Attracted to an obsidian and steel tainted moth. 

That flies high above the room without moving an inch; 

Rome, Paris, Jaipur - in the blink of an eye. 

The age of information replacing human warmth, 

The untouched core yields, with a heartfelt sigh. 

The moon has risen in its silver sequinned gown, 

The sound of the city receding and finally gone, 

This lucid dream of the perfect universe, 

Of stars and conversations till the dark turns to dawn.