Sometimes,
you want to listen to silence―
for repose. Requiem
will come later on.

A dark feeling
is seeping in. I ask the ladybug
when will you wipe out
your black spots?

Temptation pours like lava.
Desires are godsend.
I say to myself-shed the gems,
pride and self, to walk away.

Liberated-to meet
my stars. The return bleeds.
Belongings gone― yet
the hand is steady to write a poem.

There was that last question?
When will you come out of your veil?