Forever the rituals
of hate and love continue.
The sun survives the feet.
You cannot run. It
disconnects you. There was
no beginning, no middle
no end.
Shapeless, unborn figures will
decide the fate of seeds. You
were sowing the bones.
Pulling out the head
of a terrorist from the rubble,
sometimes you forget―
the contours of the enemy.
Existentially you wanted to crack
open the psyche of man.
It was a blue parable.
Do you believe in utopia?
To believe in a utopia in a dystopian age is hard. Give love to your enemy or a hand yo your oppressor. Peot see with penetrative glance and you see more sometomes than most a vivid poem enjoyed thanks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
No need for more. No more. A motorcycle defines a binary system. With a simple twist of the wrist more power is applied. The roar of the motor. Fuel consumed. Fuel firing the piston, driving the rod. A matter of balance. A matter of masculinity. A mote for error.