Tuesday, May 6, 2014


She that is hidden in the folds of the crow feet
Slowly creaking from the corners of my eyes

She lodged in the pit of my stomach probably since before time
She, the one asleep since eternity bidding time

She that stirs whenever a moment passes by

A moment that encases the whiff of her kind
Of the magical dream catchers and the ocean
A moment that brings back the wind in my hair
Tossing them into a lioness like mane
A moment that holds within its hands,
7 lives of wisdom, and the sulphur of dreams

She picks up the moment sews it to her eye
She goes back to sleep, she bids time

She has been tossing more often, from side to side
She talks in her sleep, “soon” she says

She, will be, and wash over me