I don't seek the
renunciation. It were
you to turn divine.

What you would not
tell my tale of abdication
in pain of the birth?

You are shrinking
at blanks between tears.
Only the steps bleed.

You ought to have stopped
me, in my knocked out desires, promising
the light soon to open the hibiscus.

Small cotton seeds have
started flying. The night of love
weaves black gown to cover the wounds.

I touch, I feel you to
catch your shadow. The cardinal
always takes a round to knock you.

Prickly love, I have
come to bleed. A size of moon
was always shadowing the charisma.

When the crooked fingers
look like question marks, the criminality
of darkness would not speak.

Right on the track of
truth, I was always blinded by
the brightness of the lies of saints.

My half-written poem
right on the long track of truth, was
never finished after losing heaven.
Then why do I want
to come out of the prison of systems
and find the secret of liberation.

You sit back on the
pyre. It was not the end of love,
and the mob cries. The move will not move.

Blazing in my blood,
you were coming down, yellow moon.
No, not you were my enemy.

With you gone, I was
living in marrow-bone to shut my
door of love, to hurt myself.

My encounters with words
were failing. I see your unkissed
lips losing their pink colors.

When you laugh, your
eyes spill magic. What you did
not give me is raining.

Triumph of sorrow. For my
muse, the pain was deep and ******.
I was not ready to repeat empty words.

The iris is blooming.
I drink your love. God was not
interested to give me moon.

After the monologue, you
stand on the other side of the moon,
when between lines, nothing was left.

The words were echoing.
Nameless, white knuckles, would not
stay in the pantheon feeling me.

Overpowered, manipulation begins
polarization. Nevertheless the integrity
stays in toxic air, to enchant the mirage.