IMAGES






 


Washed out faces
shed a droplet,
a drop of water, not real
but in the shape
of a teardrop...
Shadows feast on the final pretense
with no remorse but a certain
thread of painted escapism..

From inhuman fugitive camps
i walked past a season of betrayals
From burial grounds i walked
back knowing the value
of my heartbeats; precious
than the love coated
sweeteners of a past
called pretense..

From the threatening
silence to the unknown
ink fields
when i walk towards my origin
in seasons, in images
let me subtract
shadows and shades
in fine filters...