• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 02
Image by

eyes don’t need to speak

Your glassy eyes dipped in the bluest blue
don't dream the dreams,
sculptured in the cubicles
of man-made dreads. They just

look, and watch with the purest
compassion, over the
self-inflicted wounds of our
cosmic schizophrenia, not

moving an inch from their
ancient godhead. Eyes don't need

to speak or sing, as long as
they just watch with the strength of the

morning dew; reflecting, refracting
and diffracting
all the morning lights, before
disappearing silently into
the aerosols of our all-pervading matrix.