Till now, the lonely dawn weeps on -
Thinking of how the world broke into pieces;
Faces that have names can be left alone to live…
Only if I cease to sleep even on a tired night…
Still, will our shores begin building the
Bridges on stimulating slogans?
The unwilling swallow, the mysterious sands will
Be imprisoned into the ribs of a dead city, in some
Unexplored corner on this planet. Wouldn’t anybody
Dictate the consequences then?
Wouldn’t the meaningless talking grow?
Time told us to go on, though Time (it seems) is
Like a boat made of paper; someone even sails it.
Nevertheless, the night that has its moon
From the memory keeps on drizzling dew drops
On the fields of grief with calm affection as if,
The innocent infant will come again from the uterus
Of honesty.
-Here? …
-May be…
