Poetry

Let us take another road.
The boundary was not clear
between crime and pardon
between disease and murder.

The cleft in the ravines
had hidden the rifles and landmines
when we were busy in worshipping
the rock face with folded hands
to deliver us from fear and future.

There was no ending, no beginning
of disturbing the beehive
to drink the moon in night,
hear the blues of stars
and swim in dark light.

Where was the heaven?
Enough of nothing was not something?
The cure of curse was not in any hands,
polity of clouds was decaying very fast
they were raining fire on the grass.