Poezja

Thy rhythms find your error-
With this; vivid creation of lies! 
I behold! Soul crushed in battle-
A scapegoat of  your lies, I hold.
 
In temples, prayers, rituals-
I didn't find! Her reflections! 
Oh Muse! Drunk with her optimism; 
In ungainly smile, broad on faces.
 
Of hunger, loss when she finds me solace-
My days come to a halt-follow
Yours emergence, Long I did
Overlook! Mortal frames, limits- hollow.
 
And declare, soul is the preach-
I promised; sanctity-beauty of her eyes! 
 In dusty  dawn to crowded lifts-
I see in this world, Faces smiling and shy!