Poetry

I paint the day
for you, for the last rites
of sun.

Embracing the dark
to dissolve the boundaries.

I will question, something
else, not about the stoned moon.

The other side of the
thin hijab, was a humiliated truth.
Facts were always knifed.

Something moves
harshly to break the silence.
A pink self betrays the denial.

How mandatory it
was to keep on gooding
the blue flames!

There is no family
of the bohemian.