Poetry

These were the children of 
wrath, the fire god. What I am 
watching was a subtle suicide 
pact taking on the style of a civil 
war among sparrows. 
 
The transmission was offering a 
dark vision of future. The skies 
were not answering the prayers. The 
old lover wants to come back in small 
land to forbid the division of hearts. 
 
No resonance comes after the surgical 
strike. You remember the sunset on 
the mount of your palm. I said, you 
will survive all your enemies. I 
distil the eyes for the coarse admission. 
After all the poem has a meaning.