They will not come down
with branding iron and bobbing stings...

A cutaneous drip.
The young moon drinks the dew...

How will you carry the mount of tears
in the vally of temples? Kites flowing...

Do not knock out the water from the eyes,
each dropp is temple...

The things which did not brother you,
like crossing the crowd unspoken...

Neither in sleep nor wake
I hear, a wingless fall, out of the clouds...

I climb up the stairs to know
How much you need...

Unlived death, that was me
waking in exile from the bones...

Night will feed the sleep
sleep will feed the night...

You have nibbled and eaten raw
scratching by nails...

A scented moon caves in
on a tree top...

In the valley of death
one more guest arrives...