With stoned eyes
I gather the baby clouds
to search for old moon.
...
In a passing moment,
giving you a call in Milky Way,
like a lone sun.
...
You recite my old poems―
to understand the psyche
of human conflicts.
The long shadows won't leave
...
And when you sleep in
the hurting arms of woes, I
will listen to storms.
...
A bit, like you
I wanted to live, making
my own rains.
...
All I needed was to address
a runaway pain. Nothing
to do with liberty
or fraternity.
...
The grass reaper wants
to right your wrongs
of medieval hurts.
...
Humanly
a violet river flows
under the earth.
...
This was
a prelude to a prefix.
I want to stretch
my arms
...
The double-edged truth
had the exoticism. The blood was
in air. A blue bird draws
a red line, indulging in spiritualization
...