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One day when the sun shall rise and the world's short of a pair of eyes. Someone negotiates the price of wood in shambles. The sunshine won't wake me up The shuttered eyes couldn't be forced open. On my desk an abandoned pen shall wait. An unfinished poem shall attract only the the words of praise. Good or bad won't matter. Perhaps an eye shall pick, an invisible thread. The incomplete poem shall be completed, when firm hands shake the dust off my dreams. A seed shall crack open. There one flower shall bloom on the earth, where my ashes wait. Blissful roots of a pregnant sky reach earth to bind the loose sand. 20th November 2009
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