I remember the last image,
When I left the gallows behind,
The words, can you wait?
Haunts the dilemma of world,
There I had an urge to pick the knives again,
To scar another absence of presence of us,
When will the evening of unattainable love end?
I wonder, dearest,
What made us meet in the gallows,
The separation picked my soul,
The sickness spoke of silence,
Still, I survive on the scars,
To when I act as the Wordsmith.
The angels have come as demons,
Haven’t we left behind the destruction?