In a little castle
among the mountains and the blue clouds
a little boy lies entrapped;
circling with fear and imaginations
gripped with the pages of novels.
Little boy cries at night
when the clock tower strikes twelve
Cold wind rushing in
whistling to the woods unknown
Unseen air creeps
into my blanket
Shadows haunt the plastered doors.
Blood spilling into white tiles
showers washing away the sin
Laughter recedes like a silent smile
A noise lead us to the garden far
the world so high
like a diamond in the sky,
Where the winds grow colder day and night
A garden festers in my mind.