To the Muse

Herojit Philem

The night is dark
As if there is no luminous object
Yet, I climb up the steep mountain
To court with you
With my broken rhyme

As I peep through the letters
Of my imagination
I find you sleeping.

The whole night
In the backyard of your house
I waited for you.

The waiting let me forget
The chill of winter

When you wake up
The dawn stretches its arms
To take you away
But I cut the arms

And I brought you home
Wrapped with a white sheet
Tainted with blood.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.