Poezja

Remarkably steadfast, the 
mighty oak was standing up, as 
the thick rain was pounding at it. 
I had come a faraway to unleash 
the tenacity. 
 
The flesh and the moon. 
It was the anniversary of ropes 
and shackles. You should not have 
adored the distant dreams 
without touching them. The transcript 
was not ready. No template 
was perfect. 
 
I would not know most of you. 
That was a bliss. In blue and dark― 
I will sail for nothingness. No more, 
no less. The chirping, synchronized trill 
of crickets, encourages to stand still, I listen 
without hearing. 
 
I have come back to zero.