Just above the skyline
and beyond the horizon,
there rests a wish I make during the twilight hours.
Mosaic wish with feathers and moonstone and phantom pain,
I blow regularly with my fuchsia lips.
Tiny sparkles in air
praying hymns of God
and singing elusive wishes.
I carry the weight of my countable desires
like the luminous colors of rainbow.
Sprinkling in the lap of universe,
waiting to be heard itself by mother Earth.
What is a hope that isn’t felt by your heart
What is a dream that doesn’t rejuvenate your senses
What is a true wish that isn’t manifested by God itself?