Words don't speak―
the inner voice.
Words can only ****
the truth.

Quivering like a
hollyhock in wind,
O god, who are you?

Ever wished to
deceive yourself and become
a victim of love, not fear?

Hiding the panic,
you mature into the epitome
of voluntary surrender.
And here lies the riddle.

You will not understand
the effect of distinguished no.
It will burn in my
poems for centuries.

The holy book starts bleeding.