Plague

Some thought are agonizing,

An immense pain, which shadows on the image of reality.

The pain is not eternal I heard, nor is it physical.

Just a trick of mind to make us feel alive, again.

These seeds are like nocturnal animals,

'Dark agents of the night'.

A welcoming silence which I am invited to, choking on reality.

Only the screeches of ravens and footsteps of a fox;

Flappings of an owl, or the mere presence of death,

Breaks this bond, breaks this silence.

When I saw that tired shade,

Which stumbled upon your darkest eyes,

I caught a fever, even thought I initially thought it's the plague.

Now the fever is the plague,

And the ticks of my watch are gone.

Vanished like the smoke of my cigarette disappears within the presence of the thin air,

And joins hands together with sheets of dark night.

The night which represents fear and pain,

Death and suffering.

It's the 'same' thought, which is agonizing.

This distance so far, like the moon and the tide,

Like the noon and the night:

Vanish into each other, cannot withstand each other.

No matter how close they are to each other.

The sun is dead, behind these dark clouds.