Poetry

Let it be as such, 
my long cut tear, 
Do not dramatize the wound 
and put it as an exhibit. 
No attempt should be made to mask the fated pain. 
Wait for me at the end of the road. 
 
Not for me, 
I grieve for the fallen trees, tall glory of past. 
It was a question of survival. 
Survival of the best, which could not continue. 
There is reversal of equatization. 
Man has become superior to god. 
 
They are using Him, I am afraid. 
Urging him to commit a natural suicide, 
a logical ending of a patriarch. 
The stage is set for a mass mourning. 
 
A big conspiracy had been brewing 
in prisoner’s cell, 
which had been in full possession of 
whole truth.