Poetry

We will watch the
sunset in cahoots and
focus on pulsars.

You live for a critical
cause. Never to retreat.
Was it possible without
some happenings?

The words come and go,
not uttering any sound.
To live or to die for a genesis?

Blooded sky bids
sad farewell to humming―
birds. My half-brother
weeps silently.

Taking final call
of human chain, from the
foster god. I return to
my grass roots.