In unthinkable death how do you carry
yourself...

I am asking
who is calling the shots...

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

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

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

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

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

If hate was becoming an absolute truth
and love was transcending lies...

While going my way, searching an eternal flame
I confront an extraordinary trauma...

I visualize you all time,
my death...

Tired of exhibitionism,
nostalgia for an eternal...

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