• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 11
Image by


Brisk waves at dusk's end,
A loner's company of faded gold,
Of seas dying of thirst and
the slurred speeches of tinted galaxies
– day one

The half moon of May
reveals that the sun was only painted
in red and bitter light,
then, the colourless sun scuttles bare
and behind my eyes is a dark-blue sylph
– day two

The land on which I tread
is starved of sand and foamy dust
cracks, holes, grey, yawns
and rocks assumes Land's sobriquet
All of nature's grace seems exhausted
and a loner is left with gold and
the misery of Oizys
– day three

Cover silk with clouds,
make stone out of rough sandpaper,
retrace the origin of Nyx in the old mount,
voices transit into echoes
and eyeballs wear on the real as eyelids
– day four

Reality dawns as the morning and...
Alas! I've been dreaming for four days!