The Kiss.

The flame teased the dust, it threatened too, to burn it by dawn.
The dust too laughed as it still bargained for a kiss from the flame.
Was the dust a seeker, was the flame divine, both were though empty, both in love, drenched in the silence of the night.

Sleep.

Sleep now...the sky above you has let go of noise and din and light to help you rest. So rest for the day that the sky promises to bring.

What do I say of this day
How can I close my eyes to this night
I don't know what do I do with this body and its name
You gave me, it's yours thus it's your name too.
Your questions are yours, your answers are yours, if I travel inwards, I only reach you, if I travel outwards, it still remains your play ground.

Stains.

Stains in consciousness live, are immortal, they survive centuries and travel through genes. Such are my stains too, that will survive my mortality. It does not matter where the die is cast or the colors are spilt, stains travel mysteriously to my consciousness.
Your consciousness merges into all as in some love story that waits to return to its own home that is mine. When it returns, it comes back  with stains of love, with that of hate, with anxious breaths, with people and their guns, their personal hopes and conflicts, their joys and their laughter.
The stream is endless and so are the hues. As a child I called these dreams, I still think consciousness flows too in dreams. I am sure you see it too, you see me too, but you see me as you.
This is how we connect through centuries, this is how we remain immortal, our stains thus never die.