Poezja

Tryst with nano was like burning in hell.
Headless body of truth,
turning into invisible particles
flaunts an absent God.

The mist envelops a rag picker –
sleeping on the payment.
Hunger fresh grown will be served,
when sun rises.

Indelible ink an yellow pages
bearing the burden of unborn grief
inherits this globe, the ashes
of burnt out words.