Poetry

Waiting for the unwaiting
to appear. The green pigeons
will reduce the palace to rubble.

Could it be like― the
first man to die has become
a savior?

I hold your tender
face in my hands to
read the axioms.

Mumbling something―
Inaudible, I will address,
the upright past.

An unborn love child
Kicks at the walls of the womb.
It was time to see the world.