Behold I will make New,
The old and disdainful,
It hurts so intense full
At last days will few.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry




Wasn’t as nostalgic as it would.

An enchanted moose,

Burrowing it’s foot at the discourse of a

Broken loop.

Two days.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry

Nix, Open those eyes.

Don’t say nix lass,
It’s not how it appears, is it?
It hurts but just open your eyes,
Let the beams of light fathom what you are
Your soul,
Ere letting it go.

Don’t say nix lass,
Those lads don’t appear like the clouds above,
Ergo, stay within the brim
It’s hurting I know but there’s lots of nosh,
Just open up your eyes
And grind every bite you saw.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry


It’s been almost forever since I embraced you in the heart of my sleeve,
You used to laugh at me,
When I flipped eggs off the skillet tossing all over our feet,
You held my hand softly,
Dispelling every doubt preventing my unaccomplished dreams,
Nothing will replace the trust we’ve built
Beyond this bridge,
Your vision is as clear as a King unleashing decrees.

When we could go by the park, say Hi to people,
Light fireworks,
And then run as fast,
Remember when our pranks we’re bad,
Almost got us skinned by the supermarket guard
Who looked like someone who swallowed a kit of drums,
You would smile at strangers giving them something to eat,
Clothes to dress in,
Purest of beauty: A flourishing enchantment uncovering my unspoken belief.

When you come home suevenna
You’ll find your favorite seat unoccupied
The spot which we danced and danced entangling each other like weeds,
You’ll find every drawing that you heartily submitted from within,
You’ll find me,
This time not through voice calls and videos,
But a sincere touch of my lip.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry.

Coated Groans

In a world of drought and broken bowls
Her soul dreaded to be home.
Painted words of discomforting trust,
Her own,
She didn’t even bother to recall despite the recurring
Wispers of her mother’s voice
Begging her not to let go.

Weeks of torture and complete distortion.
Still enslaved to her mind dreading to get home,
Perhaps, spend time with that ugly doll
That was as a result of a broken sun
Shone in a benevolence of a romantic war.

Still cold,
Her mind held on to the rails of those walls
Blocking her soul from getting any close,
Her home,
Just few steps away keeps her violently insane
While that painted wall screams to the top of it’s formidable groan.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry


This was his usual,
To give hope to the lost and purest of love like a daily dose,
No one knew his home,
Not mindful of the thorns which burrowed countless holes,
Spreading tears of love sucking all his sores.

The fact that he gave out his only pair of sandals to the Prince of Rome,
Putting down his crown to join a table of Pigs from Pork,
This man,
Appeared to be nothing more,
But Humble.

Neither did he a branch broke,
Nor shoot venomous arrows at his rivals around the clock,
Was his usual,
To give hope to the lost and purest of love like a daily dose.

He pleaded guilty of Sin,
The Pigs from Pork consistently spat at him,
Claiming that he stole all the trash-cans from within
He deserves nails,
Straight through his hands and feet.

Still, nailed by Love,
He cried not to a soul,
He looked down with Love into the eyes of the Pigs from Pork,
Assuring them that when it’s done,
They’ll join a table filled with Kings and God.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry