Broken Halo

 Make another one of me. Twice. What's you vice, mine is illusion. My halo is broken. May be I was blinded with what saw so closely. But I am not weak. There is a house where I live, it's full of sunlight and I walk barefoot on the grass and you wake up in me on most days . Lovers, I don't see but there is enough ginger in this house, so I start by preparing a tea and drinking it is the most promised reward. Sky drips onto the pavement and June melts into the arms of October and I sit on the grass when I am allowed to sit outside and I write. Or at least I try.

Sometimes in a while it rains here, I spend the better half of the day in the grey foreboding. Always the lonely kind. In this house, how trivial are my dreams, how mundane, how beautiful and how tragic is the act of living. Life may be different but death is equal.
Being hopeful could be beautiful but hopelessly hopeful is fatal.

We travelled enough-Together or alone .
We are all travellers in life but if don't travel together I would be happy for the fact that you are still traveling, even when I don't  have your whereabouts. Forgive me for my sins. I have no complaints from destiny and from you. You loved me when I forgot what life is amidst the ruckus . This bare thought is enough for me. 

This is the way that autumn came to the trees, to life.
leaves everything stripped, shook and scattered.
How strange it is to have something that could trample life out of shape undisturbed by a single moan of protest. How strange life is, or may be it has always been so. Who knows.