When all manifestation of hope abandon a wretched soul, is it not liberating to consider that hope itself is dead in the said soul and thus, rots into oblivion?

- NASHEEVA DYCA ARIEL

Is it not amazing how passion, when unabated, can result to something dumbfounding and rather incredible?

- NASHEEVA DYCA ARIEL

Light

To lie upon thy bed of stars and midnight pillow clouds-

An irrevocable wonder woven to the so-called life.

A cup of blood stained this core of being,

Nothing was left but these empty eyes.

They were once so full of delicately created bliss

and innate loveliness and purity,

Bethink of thee gives one more chance

to redeem the once possessed vitality.

The universe is nothing but an undesired vortex

taking everything to black nothingness

of frozen- dead lilacs and odorless rotten daffodils,

But thy existence swept away all its darkness.

The cracks of passion never get any chance

to be healed yet they never once bleed to death,

They kept on growing like a cancer of endless sufferrings

bestowed upon the graves of namelessness.

But the felicity brought by thee to almost everything

stops the world’s fixation in just one blank stare,

And all the raging sturdy silhouettes broke into pieces

and were blown by the wind of a loving nightmare.

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I know not why the night is much colder than before,

And the fear it brought becomes black more and more.

The stars disappear one by one now before me

and any hint of light is lost in eternity.

As I walk the rocky road with no more eyes,

Stumbling down a lot is not anymore a surprise.

And each time I get back on my feet,

I feel nothing else awaits me but a certain defeat.

I reached out my hands but I touched nothing

It seemed I have never stopped wandering,

Everything became strange to me in total darkness,

Or it’s me who became strange to them I guess.

I am going to sleep in the blackness of night,

And I hope tomorrow I will regain the light. 

Love, Love, Love

Sing with love and prepare to lie down

in your very own box of eternity.

Intoxicate your head with the sick concept

and you would be surely found in insanity.

Eternally lost in a forlorn wisdom

indulged by vicious frankincense of mystery,

Yet it would drag you down to resignation –

one married to the famous misery.

Craze yourself with such thing of no definition

just to fit in what they treat as noble norm,

and looming in the distance is the great fate

of being covered by soil and feasted by worms.

Enjoy the smile and sweet laughter

and be ready for a very palatable slaughter.