"in My Father's Closet"

In my father's closet,
antiquities of fashion
bundled in dusty piles
glimmer in webs of dirt
as the shadows of light
tunnel her long and weary way
into the screens of darkness
veiling the room

Confined,
air choked,
they wearily wither
in frustrating languishments
and seems unusual and obsolete
in the eyes of this generation
but her style and beauty
surpass our barricaded present imaginations

In my father's closet
there are portraits
of a fashionista
a sight as surreal as it was risible
residues of rare aesthetics
of he who stylishly trended
because of his beguiling sense of fashion
captures migratory eyes

Echoes of endearment
from the scrolls of hardwork
deafen thirsty ears
as showers of accolades
in gigantic drops
thunder into the abyss of uncertainties
and soaked his soft soul
in pristine praises so passè
and prosperity at its prime...