Poetry

A thousand moons
you walked to search me.
A sparrow waits at the
end of road to welcome a pilgrim.

You were wearing
the red linen to narrate
the story from birth to death.
How many rivers you had crossed?

The blue black sky
always glittered in moonless
night. Wine glass will
spill the elixir to meet gods.

Wake in my dream
O nightingale. It is god's
domain to find the answers
of perennial questions.