Let it be as such,
my long cut tear...

Dismembering the wreath,
he went on celebrating his own demise...

Let it go, do not touch it,
you had been negating the bare truth...

Strange it looks,
some one crying on winning a race...

Tired of exhibitionism,
nostalgia for an eternal...

I visualize you all time,
my death...

Let us not cry for the fallen statue.
he is still alive and writing his own epitaph...

Today the poem was still on the brink
of completion...

Children of sorrow gnaw into their thumbs.
Nowhere to go...

You refuse to grow in a grim challenge.
Already the witch-hunt has started...

Clouds had refused to part.
A fractured moon was walking in dismay...

I am asking
who is calling the shots...