Poezja

When you were you,
me picked up the words-
you did't say.
You stir up a verse,

incendiary enough-
to start the chakras of sorrow.

Why to believe in
reincarnation, when carnations
in your eyes won't die.

A bloodbath for
believing in nothingness-
of innocence in the folds of time.

The seeds were in mode
of dispersal, of hate
and insults.The crowds were thinning.

A strange thing was going to happen.
Dark sky would descend
randomly to capture the speed.