Poezja

You may go around the world
to touch the moon.
Rocks will beat the power
of dust to take revenge.

My poems were shrinking.
The roses still bloom.
Between the words
and meaning, moon weeps.

Mutually I wanted to
share the meaningless pranks.
Life always betrays the death.
I die daily.

What was your awareness,
when you smell the breath of
an everlasting pain?
Does the god become a human?