Poezja

Ready to dismember the red geraniums
rains had no mercy.
Thunder did not show any preference
and hails had felled the pride
of tall grass.

Denuded, the hungry man
walked towards liberty.
Moral tapestry in scape after scape
cried,
the mystery endured the cradle –

Of personal god.
But I bled my truth in wilderness
to impose the religion,
of a non-believer,
for obedience to natural laws.

Talking to divine
brings relief. The direct, face to face
confrontation, for a twig of faith.
I pick up the seeds
for the sake of eternity.