Poezja

They were burned alive.
Most cherished to me,
betraying the functionality of a system,
interstitial asphyxiation took place.

In the garb of a garlanded saint
a gun booms.
The death is rolled from tongue to tongue.
flying limbs get strung on trees.

A faith was in flames,
somebody leapt from the inferno
with folded hands, to melt into a stone
reaching nowhere.

Non-particles were becoming visible
parting the sky.
Nostalgia was possessed with belief of non-believers,
a thought without a thinker.

I am taking liberty, O God
give me something to live!