Vanishing to the last degree, disappearing in the empty streets, 
 Sweeping ashes into angles with his bare feet, 
 He circled the window panes, as he crossed many lanes, 
 And reached a place between the river and the concrete front. 
 The spare colors in the darkness of the hour, 
 In the desperation of his sighs, from the air he devoured, 
 Shone brightly in the direction of the flowers, 
 As memories replayed themselves in between his eyes, 
 And they painted his dreams with stories of the past, 
 Which he then fastened to his mind, then in his veins last, 
 Lies, secrets, and shadows that he crossed with ties, and truth, 
 With all its marriages- 
 To the sea of vast blues, 
 To a stand of the news,
 To the view of the sky, 
 And his last goodbyes.  

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It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

21 thoughts on “Architecture”

  1. in this tableau with this beautiful taint of the melancholy, accompanying by the dreams painted with the stories of past, of the author you are, I allowed myself to spread some words dressed up in the attire of some emotions which stirred up in me the joy of the reader wandering through small boxes full with smooth dreams of my present visions just for making other flowers shine brightly into a future…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hey there Watt. I made myself a note to read your blog tonight and I’m here reading. I hope you had a wonderful holiday season and a blessed and wonderful 2020. Keep doing what you do best. Making memorable works of Watt. 🙂


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