Artsuy

Dear Artsuy, I hope you still hear the cockcrow every morning A crow of Renaissance, of the past you left behind Same crow that Seeped into your ears as a child, through adolescence and maiden-ship The nature-bought sonorous call back to life That awakens from the short spell of death To foil the toll the…

Suffering in silence

How do I say it… How can I tell it? The tale of the man that weighed in his sanity for the warmth of a woman And got heart-whipped after he served his purpose as a nose rag He is indeed a fool for he saw it coming but played blind Now he wears a…