Midnight Musings

This is night life, she speaks. To no one but herself and her virtual pen.

Over cups of milk tea, she drinks drop by drop.

The cool wind that blankets her skin, the sensible pages and the momentary silence in between. There is an odd, yet pleasant chemistry along her Clementine, his ragged old guitar and those papers that ‘sing’.

She sips again. And again. And yearns for the mysteries of the hours between the nightfall and the dawn.

She captures a thought.

The flavor is called nostalgia. It tastes like a tension between joy and tears.

Photo credit: Cacao footage | Stock clips & videos
Photo credit: Cacao footage | Stock clips & videos

Now

now, the sky is bluer than blue

now,  the grass is greener than green

now, twilight is brighter than bright

now,  the  night is closer than the day

but still my heart gropes for words

now, to you I have to say

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This Empty Garden Seat

The shadow sits with no one

But the soul of

This empty garden seat

To capture a pause the world can not give

To drop a tear the world can not see

To whisper the stories of his lonesome heart

To no one but this quiet garden seat

The greens and the blues closely overhear

The shadow stands up

Leaving a countless memories

The world may not remember

But this  garden seat forgets never

The shadow leaves the fragrance of his memories

Wafting through the nonchalant  air

benches

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