Poetry

Planet earth, 
they have stopped moving with me like clouds, 
like trees. 
Sap frozen, inertia overtaking 
tongues clipped 
mouth after mouth black shut. 
Toads are croaking. 
 
Incence of hate wafting 
from scrolling suicides. 
The terrorist is on move 
from valley to valley 
shrine to shrine 
river to river. 
Bulls in veils bellowing in dark. 
 
Self-seeking or sensing the history? 
Intentness of kill or empathy of pain? 
Who were the masters hiding behind hills? 
Let me choose my scratchings from unknown pen. 
My paper should remain unwritten, 
nobody will draw the line 
nobody will put the signatures.