Cyclopseven R Poems

Man we are, born as man
In others we always try hard
To look for ourselves
This self of ours we wanna impose
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How are you, my dear friend?
Hope things are bright and right
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My silence is not golden yet it is priceless
in search of the grandeur self within the little self
a hunt for a world of my existence
which have lost the direction since ages of yore
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When comes autumn
leaves dropped in tones
colorfully covering the earthen surface
does that mean the trees hate the leaves?
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My silence is born with me
when speech become stale
relationship an utopian journey
my silence always within to console me.
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For centuries unknown
a tree standstill
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This is a story of two friends
who meets daily to acknowledge each other
at the height of consummation
that we call twilight.
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Seed sown
to be born again
bringing the consciousness gone
back to life
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See me not in your mind
Nor my reflection in the mirror
For I may not be there in truth
But, only the false impression
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I move, yet
To nowhere I go
Within me the journey lasts.
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