Esther loves ethereal crowds.
On lazy nights, blue hazy eyes
Warm her up when her silence dies.
Sky-minded, she is bringing clouds
On the papyrus of lighters
Which ones have brought her blinded mind
To the mute death she had defined.
She no more belongs to Writers.
The paper she used to write on
Is now blotched by soulless white ink.
The words she put down are stink
When their deaf meanings are withdrawn.
Gallivanting through silent mists,
The Milky Way forgot its bruise,
Let its bright stars playing black blues.
She looks up to the night sky's wrists
Looking for an ideal noise.
No tale, no verse, no prose have come.
They are being led by the drum
Of the loving loved poet's joys.
Words are wires to her ego.
They are just satin tears swelling
Like rain on cheeks, dew-drops falling
For a melody on piano
Score.
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