Poezja

The sins of mortals
have become ordinary.

You can breathe like
nekton, in deep ocean of
idyllic mind.

Pull out your hubris like
a tinkling coin and rub it with your―
body / let it become dirty.

The wayward emotion and
illuminati will meet for the
first time/on the turf.

Desire wins ultimately.
You pick up a red rose
and place it along the jasmines.

Acceptance comes after the fall.