Poetry

Homeless wanderer 
my bohemian moon. 
I continue my journey 
till the clouds manipulate. 
 
Crisp sky favours the stars 
in dark night of gloom 
of your failed promises, 
and my goddess of ruin. 
self-deception was a great relief! 
 
Golden praise can do no harm. 
You were targeting the great sentences, 
and easy flows the river under sun, 
there was nothing left in the desert 
and slowly burns the cauldron of craft. 
 
That sudden spurt of rage and tears, 
strangle of dreams, roses and hopes. 
My empty hands, white skin, leafy eyes 
Why? Am I tremendous, expanding like sea?