I have reached a point.

There's no place for pretentious floral fragances here.

The nights here are devoid of a blue hue to it.

Here there are a pair of eyes passionately awaiting the arrival of moonlight over a rising a sun.

Here there is a heart that has modified the rhythm of its beat complimenting the tune a lonely nightingale sang.

Here the late night melodies are oblivious to tinkle of anklets.

Here white apparitions that float freely in space are embraced as a normal phenomena.

Here the air is antique.

Here is the termination of present: the left hand termination of present..

With tears streaming down.... The towering gates forced open by guilt... Welcomes you to the past... A past mistaken for present..

A spade dug through the earth 10 feet is

Inclined to the trunk of a tree that shed blossoms sans scent with a trembling voice spoke.

"Here the scent dwells only 10 feet below the ground.. "

Here the waves are ripples.... Ripples are waves.... Here they brush past my body...

The quest is for the soul.....

And where is the soul.....?

Here the answer to it came from a dead sea... a dead sea under construction...

"Here your soul is safely housed in a metal object"