The Dark-conscious

 Poem; Tapas Sarkar;

In this duskiest silhouette sky 

I stare at the mystic senses, 

The senses softly ooze 

Like the sanguineous red cloud of Summer, 

A comatose heart dies and retrieves self 

Like the mythical phoenix fire, 

In this dark-conscious sun-death

Does anyone call my name? 

Maybe not. 

Yet, I stare at something-nothing.

Yes, I will stare at nothing-something.

And, this crux of existence reminds me 

of you,

of them,

of us.

The other purist self keeps crying…

Will I ever be lost if thy love is killed? 

Will I ever be immortal if thou kiss the dead? 

#mystic_purist