THE CHARCOAL PAINTING OR Last breath of Love...

My soul..lone...tearing me aprt
always I described the last poem..
without case, grammer, phrase....
like my heart..indoxicated....arrack..
but the breath of balm still passing..
inside despite hanged to kill the poem,
but the rope broken...not reached ground..
My heart, numb, it is broken pieces,
Not amber or charcoal but tiny
powder of fire remain as last breath..
Blanket  black around as the patinet
thick claded  for his death....
Heart wet, kept under torn gunny of salt,
salt made of tears that
rained out of thick black dry eyes...
The day around was dark....cold wind..
clouds, condensed....never rained....off
yes I was fond of rain, like a deer
to be in rain, bath in rain, wet
but without you? only memories?
Where the hope of my sun shine----
cold throug chill waves ?
My love son where??? then auriole?
Ho..far away  the cut out of you at air..
yes smiling visage but cruel to me heart...
where the warmth of your closeness..
on this freeze air oh.. that warmth..
how this aroma  in cold,making  mad...
It bring when we sweat fragrance together..
only to weap of memories..
The hug of love around was now  dreams..
the poems of love now note even prose,
it turn just waste of letters..look
it fly some to the wet of rain spoiled
thurst from last summer...
still thurst in cold monsoon....
hungry was winter till the harvest..
drout..flood of drainage the city...
lonely nights golden vapours.here dark heavy
and other dropped to kitchen fire burnt
please it was my life...
and my freedom for dreams....
how you dare to cease all from me...
i want to fade un to you
not asking, no needs take away me..
and freeze me or burn me if you can
with my spirit for ever away my love....