Poetry

Unlearning my life,
you ought to become a poet
in the dominion of words.

Wade the cool waters.
Your concepts become clear
I will give you a call from the boat
in deep sea.

Ah, this was embryonic
pain to bear the rape of truth.
This poverty's debt will
never be paid back.

Too far, the horizon
sinks in the arms of moon.
The condensed tears will―
read their own story.

The contours of broken
life will change.