Life remains, without the comfort of my muse,
A sad violin tune
Listening to which
I would fly,
To a past life,
Known only to me,
And to my muse
A past life,
Where our love shined so bright
That it was celebrated in all realms
A past life,
Where living equated to loving!
Life remains, without the comfort of my muse,
A raging sea
One in which the trodden and the desperate
Have lost their bodies,
After having had their souls imprisoned in glass cages
Yes, life remains, without the comfort of my muse,
An emptiness
Which nothing can fill up!
Pray, what am I, without my muse
If not a coin broken in two pieces
If not a mirror shattered into millions of parts
If not water, spilt on the floor
If not an aimless soul, letting myself be blown
There where the winds of life would want to!
Pray, hope I, by closing my eyes into the nether
To have threads from my heart
Connect to that of my muse
So that fate and the skies' will,
May happen as they do desire!
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