words of this century are handcuffed pens are whistleblower hearts are sealed we are wounded our wound is deep the rainbow is in a welter of blood the pain of the sorrow is fallen on the light of the sun while we mention about the one hundred thousand ways from language suspicion doubt to
Life Digs in its Heels Read More »
The night is silent, deserted and settled A child’s voice in my ear tells me to catch a star I should put on wings to fly in the sky, shouldn’t I, kid How come otherwise I could reach the endlessness of the universe Hold my hands, says the child Hand in hand we fly by
Ah, I could not love you, had I not been free i could dance with you nowhere yes, I am as free as I would fall in love as much as to think of you, day and night Ah even though for my freedom I would hit the road i could not become a
THE ROAD TO FREEDOM Read More »
We messed up earth, your hands are clean kid… Come on, let write a petition to heavens. Let flowers pour down from the clouds onto the streets, You can name things after flowers… Become a color in my palette. Let us draw happiness. Let us dye all the colors of the rainbow Don’t look reproachful,
Assume your everyday life What brings it to light? Glees break out at dawn My elbows glued to yours That is what you appreciate Let me see your socks on your knee Only one spark emits to the horizon You never wish to dare in the dark With smooch, you simply cover my back
O kid, do not cry A sea of tears would forge at my heart Its waves would hit the rocks Your hands you clung to the stones are all in pieces Your looks are lifeless bloody red Let the ones cry Who created migration roads O humanity, it is too late You are
I would liken love To a wheat kernel, When sowed, it’ll grow into an ear of grain And even into a wheat field, One wheat kernel would give a soul Into millions of wheat kernels. Souls become one soul Now tell me, you, Humankind If love would lessen by sharing Would those souls be alive
Through the disillusioned gusts blowing in an evening By holding on to the gray branch of a leaning cloud I shall be migrating to a land of never-dying. I shall get to a land where children are grown Where animals are never treated cruelly Where nests of birds are never burnt, the forests never incinerated
The pencil sharpener shaved the pencil The pencil sharpener broke the tip of the pencil. the pencil was broken Though there were many words to write It was left half finished Over once again She took the pencil and its sharpener in hand She thought for a second, what if its tip is broken What
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it should be september when i am gone there should be no desire in me from the summer and spring the leaf should fall down the rain should start quietly the soil should be able to satisfy her longing for water the sea should be combative by hitting the shore the wind should blow
