Poetry

Was it a spiritual failure of a man 
to become an animal effortlessly? 
and how difficult it was 
to change the street’s crowd? 
 
In the human drama 
no dialogue ends. It begins again 
and the hero replays the tragedy. 
 
The fight between one versus many 
continues endlessly, 
like jungle’s law 
where a body is thrown to beasts. 
 
Though I have run out my steps 
I will count the miles, I have to scramble. 
My hands tremble when I write the 
epitaph of a dying light on mount. 
It is getting dark now. 
Saturn will shortly rise.