These are not my
words. The knowledge sinks in mind.
What is now the result of meaning?

Everything cracks, counting
the dark lips of undying betrayals.
You walk before the burning moon.

There was no preface. No
End. The middle book was a discovery
of the author called by many names.

Pulling the sun down,
a state of love comes, but pain
was not mine, You were my mirror.

How long the lamps
will go to search the mind to
reach the death of an unknown name?

The timid fame was the
last blunder. Each god sheds the crown
of pure reality. It was an eternal call.

It was a difficult
hunt for truth, when life stabs,
sun sets and moon comes out.

Can you talk to the
breaking mirror, why the stranger
goes to plums to swipe off the tears.

Stroking the pen, I
write about the hell, how to find the punished
angel for stealing my happiness.

It was over, the
charisma of the rising moon. But
inquisition has no tolerance.

I have been wrong
to become perfect. Life demands
the pound of flesh for thinking.

Something misses to
come near the Agni and someone freezes
you without water. Where the love has gone?

It was over, the
charisma of the rising moon. But
inquisition has no tolerance.

I have been wrong
to become perfect. Life demands
the pound of flesh for thinking.

Something misses to
come near the Agni and someone freezes
you without water. Why future betrays?

When your lines follow
contours, you become straight.
It is very difficult to remain simple.

Life is scandalous to
hold the round figures. Your stamina
is tested, when you talk about Cleopatra.

I am blood and the
muse. The paper remains blank
till the scream comes from the grave.

The moon dies every
day when a sun was killed. The innocent
lightning was burning all virgins.

Surely this is a dream.
But I am digging out the remains
of buried enemies to apologize.

Waist- high the pain of
peers does not stop. You want to go
to the beloved land of tears.