Though lived together
she who deceived husband
is an ideal wife…
But, as lived single
she is an aberrant.

I shake awake in the sleep…
The invisible dialogues, unable
to distinguish from darkness
vexes me...
I have heard the sob of the horn bill of the freedom
throughout the half broken dreams…
you also may blame me like my mother
that it’s because not pray to God when I go to bed…
For how many ‘freedoms’
I've been kept decorated
in the living room?
the fishes in aquariums
are not the beauty kept in the glass pots
but freedom closed in the glass…
While the fishes argue that
the three quarter of the world has made for them,
looking towards the open canopy of freedom,
the love birds, quibble me from the cages
that what I caged is the word of ‘freedom’ itself.

Doubtlessly, creating Auschwitz cells in living rooms
how can I speak about the freedom?

Having exempted the birds towards canopy of indulgence
the fishes to the sea of the rights,
I went to fly in the freedom of sleep
forgetting to pray to God…
then, I know
the birds from the canopy of indulgence
and the fishes from the sea of the rights,
are praying God for the sake of me…

You can’t escape any more.
Because, I made you captive
In the prison of love.
You can’t break its walls
Because, this wall of my heart,
being constructed with responsibility,
is more powerful than your fists.

Telling and telling
It has become hollow

Writing and writing
It has worn out

Hearing and hearing
It has fed up

But will not get sufficed
After experiencing how, how, how much…

Likewise this Earth
ingest everything,
Whole memories
Will be buried
In oblivion…

Even though,
Some of them will remain
as the hair locks
outliving the soil…

Disguising how many pair of eyes
we do a falsity?
Eventhogh, we fail
to spot that one pair of eyes ...

Peaks that are needed
for the valleys.
If there are peaks
There are valleys.

There is no use of
forgetting the fallings
in the heights of life.
It is very important
each steps
to whom he mounted
the peaks of success.

When the feud
transmigrated into the mind
the greenness of the poetry
has seared.
Though the seasons
Passed by,
The shoots haven’t seen.

Her mind is the lake
where the rainbow rests.
I stolen the lake
that she withhold to me.
now, I colour to my life
with the shades adopting from the same.

I visited in the market
where the pain is selling.
I saw number of poets,
came to possess sufficiently
where displayed number of captivating pains.

Even though, my God,
I couldn't adopt
any pain fitting to me.

Red ants
of unsettled feuds
ail in my cerebrum
and spinal cord…
dear friend,
give me the medicine
of poetry,
let get my blood cold…
Spread the sedative
of poem
before taking me the knife.