There is nothing more mother than my land;
Where I want to be buried alive--
Red brownish soil is the warmest arms for a hug,
a hug too long I decompose
in calmness too peaceful the angels fall asleep,
God forgets there is hell,
borders erased, all becomes infinitive one,
it's purely true peace.
Choir of devils, a pool of love songs,
honest teeth and bites, truthful,
wonderful as baby's skin and toes.
There is nothing sweeter than the bitter.
The tongue of the ocean to lick the wounds,
flowers too young to bloom,
here we are, too pure to have a spring,
seasons are just too fatty.
Poetry does not end too soon;
Even when goodbye is not said--
These words are in a hurry but they stuck, because
narrow mind is always messy,
and the mess is too scared to speak.