CONVERSATION .

Then I  told the humid warm night.

Our nostalgia sleeps within the rocky walls of

thousands of pains, in oblivion,

and never try to awaken it

unless you want to drink our poisons together.

Let it sleep or stay comatose

Inside the corner of a bottomless darkness,

unless you want to reopen the wounds

once we shared together.

The things which gleam and shine at this blackness

should not make us smile,

hiding the burns and scars underneathe our souls,

Unless you want to re-live the lies we lived together.

The ones who celebrated only  good days

can never be our friends,

Unless you wish to forget the sacrifices we made together.

The soil we share belongs only to those

Who tastes  like pains and struggles

And smells like sufferrings.

The roof we built holds on to those pillars

Which are made of the strength of tears and blood

that we shed for others and to survive.

Never make them collapse and drop dead over us

By your  aimless search of superficiality,

Unless you want us to get buried again today

more deeper than any yesterdays.