Poesy under the thunder of Sanity

That night I the Hermit decided to visit your abode
Mustering up my words I rushed towards your roads
But you a saint, thought I was a mere miscreant
And he supposed
I am a sinner holding a chalice of forbidden fruit
No sooner his lips spelled mantra
Than dashed open sky's vexed beads
Salt hung open over the pale blizzard
Tearing the dermis apart of the serpentine sea
The needles started to drizzle
Hearing the saint mourn, the droplets chased me
And smashed to smithereens my  tiny bits
My white-collared dreams mutedly crackled
Like Fall does with the dearest melodies of wet leaves
Scattering my notes inside the void
The saint called me a 'Punished Paranoid'
An Eden of hell descended upon his streets
Setting me topsy-turvy making my heart bleed.

I wish dear Saint you could never have judged me on the scale of sanity
I wish you could sense
I came to your town to write on you a piece of poesy

Copyrights reserved to Paras Ali/2016