Truth was me
when serotonin appeared
for a golden deal.
Self-effacing―
a fragile kiss, in
bouts of darkness.
Moonlight was sitting
on treetops, when I was
conversing with god.
There was slaughter in the
sea of demons. I do not survive.
I do not die.
In ripened pain,
I will go for half-moon
to solve the puzzle of bald hunger.
Redwood knows―
how the sap rises to
build the tight grains of faith.
There was slaughter in the sea of demons. I do not survive. I do not die. Enigmatic and mystical, a work so well versed in imagery it demands concentration. Altruism is the act of the highest humanity rising above the animal instincts of our beastly forms. Fantastic work!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We are sitting on tree tops when we read the poem. Philosophical!