Break your silence.
Stay for me.
Face-to-face, after
my first inning,
prey for me.
To know the whole truth
I will change the
ecosystem.
The fake reals,
would become the change,
you never wanted to see.
Smitten by your verses
I was in distress. The
sexless army of thoughts
stand in snaky queues―
beating the big gods.
A nickel for your
eyes. Why they have become
fathomless?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What could not become a house had the chance to be transformed into something more valuable. With the charred end of a stick a message could be written on the thin blank sheet. The marks would mean the finger is still the finger and not the moon.