The chemistry of hate
changes in a thorn’s shade.
I start digging out the past
for a blind sun,
for a qualified rejection.
He was stranded in a death-row:
the civilians were killed.
Was a meditating Buddha with
a bomb, doing his routine job
of annihilation?
I am surprised of a god walking
in the graveyard to find his own
son lying asunder six feet deep
below the burden of kisses from
the vanishing mankind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem