Poetry

After victim effect
of hibernation,
I was ready to take a call
of a sudden drop.

The strange idea
engulfs me. Transparency
now speaks.

The fallout may compromise
with ash. I will not.
Someone wakes up my conscience.
A near dead goddess lights
up the last lamp.

The dirty sheets for
the crying dolls―
crying dolls.

Like the dumb finger
in frost, wants to―
write your name in blue sky.