It was the last embrace
of creativity. I touch you to write a
fiction. Freedom comes with a slap.
Your life is in my poems.
Opens like a tulip. You make a
sweet voice, when you dip in me.
My threshold holds back
the agony, but toad stools jump to
sit on the mantle along with Buddha.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem