For the love of I have for sunsets.

The most beautiful closure of the day

i believe is when the drowning sunrays

dance through the crowded cloudscape.

My heart sinks a little deeper when I see

sun meeting horizon and flooding the sky

with shades that of crimson, unwounded healing.

Some sunsets end up with me hoping

the next day shall bid a happy goodbye to my dreams.

Other time the ache wears my sight out

clear but teary

pleading that the sky doesn't go all

royal, velvety blue.

How much roads have carried

this heavier weight of feet

of those who have forgotten what home

sounds like.

Seems like it has become more of a yearning.

Like longing for aroma of food being cooked

laundry being done

and laughter emerging from front porch.

Like how pictures have captured more

smiling faces than actual eyes.

And pillows are soaked wet

more than the grass while it dances in the rain.

And skins bruised rather red

more than the oil paints painting

trust's demise with white lies.

Poetries are being printed, spoken and burnt

distraught and torn,

in hope to be rewritten

to give sheer definition, to and,

for the admiration of this one phenomenon.

Yet the most honest of all poetries

and much melodious symphonies;

Is the chirping of birds

flying back to their native nests

falling asleep at the break of dawn

and waking up with the dusk's breeze.

So much as this day shall too turn

into night

without a precise ending.

Just like how incomplete a road is

this unrelated poem

and sunsets might be.

An awakening of another morning.

Look how beautiful new beginnings could be.