I have stories with sunsets and dawns,
crimson lights of ends and beginnings.
the sky is ablaze in a myriad of fire shades.
In my mind, it was me at the center,
not the sun. I was the scorching sphere
radiating fiery flames as I rise and fall.
I was no such thing as light or hope.
I burn. I incinerate.
More than anything, I reveled in that thought
that I was in solitude. All alone.
Nothing dared to orbit my flares.
I was at peace.
The golden orb was now halved by
the horizon line and I was back to
the man who sat on the hill
to watch mere shades of the lonely color
that he will never be.
23/04/2016 © Waseem Sherif
Picture taken: [06:35] 04/08/2009