Fantasy parade.



The dark shadows and loitering humans

As I walk through the love patched streets of Paris,

the mellifluous french music drowning my senses in each verse,

The sharpening voice of the French singer,

wrecked my soul akin to the warmth of the fireblaze on a drowsy snow coved morning,

My mind reminisces the traces of thine

the nostalagia,the cunning mistress

has taken my soul for a gamble.

I could shut my eyelids,but the cunning mistress

dragged me to a luminous place,

a foreign surrounding,I ruminate for a while.

A suave women drapped in yellow

twirls round the mystic setting

flashing and dissipating,like a flicker in a lifeless,hallow night.

I glance at the woman,the sudden nostalgia,

Wrapped around my neck like a black thread.

The sparkling eyes are not unfamiliar

But to a heart gone gelid,it is akin to witnessing a dead corpse.

I am aware that the cunning mistress invented…

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