Poezja

No one owned the tears,
a tale of frozen pain,
prayed in dark,
making the silence harder to hear.
A classic fire scalds the monument of life.
A patch of grief here
and there, lets out the mystery.
 
A reclusive self
between window and moon,
unfeels the broken clouds,
bangs the sky.
Suffering the obscenities of the inverted earth,
life propels you to go empty hands
in your domain.
 
Shadows are thinning.
Waning moon crawls slowly
somebody said, catch me if you can,
my being.
The world never understood,
went on digging the holes
in the hearts,
burning the boots.