Blessed are the papers
that the poet writes on
for they will be filled
with mind and soul

Pieces of letters
Infinitely watering
the growing lilacs and daisies
planted in broken soils

Of moralities and immoralities
The curious wind hovers
Of fantasies and realities
It lands to the flowers

complex worlds
In the Paper, there it blooms
Unheard words
In the Paper, it unfolds

Covering scars or --
Opening wounds
through tattooed verses
of stories untold

Eyes and ears
in desperate propositions
Weapons and swords
in silent revolutions

A wondrous space.
Perhaps, it's an art exhibition.
of black inks in white textures,
the cheapest I've known.