Blackened silence was holding the reflectivity, reality was on the run. Exile was complete. Dark secrets, standing on head remained buried in your chest absorbing all colors of sun.
A night remembers the friends who went over the hills one by one to find the pugmarks of panther that was killing your infant biographies. The world stood bodyguard not allowing any immortality.
Your speech was clear, but unheard in terror of burnt-out principles. New sleeping cells are coming up for a metaphysical revolt. A heron was stabbed by soaring kites in the golden valley.
