Poetry

Winter is round the corner.
A single dew drop―
cedes a concession to tall trees.
Watchers of virginity
will stay to freeze the fidelity.
Eyes will not let fall
the blood tears.

You were not reading
your mind, skipping your mantra
of departure, behind the
curtain. The winter takes revenge.
Not a single leaf will
follow you, when the blaze
rages in the eyes of moon.


Listen my love. Story does
not end here. Deep within is purple
band. Win or lose, you
will walk on the stings to mutate
the pain of amputation. And
I will paint a fallen
bo tree unfinding a Buddha.