Poetry

Creeping in waking night 
was fear of fear 
and you wanted to accept the defeat 
retreat, 
It gives you solitude of 
blank space, featureless. 
 
The terrorist mask of blazing guns 
bribing the absent gods, 
for whom you are aiming? 
 
The holy man on road 
fakes, 
crushing the grass 
lilies getting flattened under the giant wheels. 
 
Moving an bloody toes 
festering heels 
carrying the sacred earth under the nails 
all night. 
peeling the time, throwing the skn 
and waiting 
for the dust to settle.