Poetry

It was very transparent
death of the shadow;
life moved without it.
We both had seen a huge hunger
and the veil of poverty,
and a cult of familiar lies in
ancient puddles of guilt.
There was no mourning. Love
and hate shaped the duality.

Life and death moved
hand in hand running in mystic silence.
Some thing has evaporated like
a spirit from the wreckage
of emptiness. A witch hunt
started to find the clarity.
A flower melted into a book
a primitive instinct was there
to survive.

My blue valley burns,
I stay attuned to fog.
Smoke and slap of winds.
calling up the sky.
Illusion of peace shattering
the night. The soaring soul floats on
the serene aura of solitude.
I don’t want to wake up again