Where a river flows
between mountains of lilies...
Why are you packing up for final journey?
I am not getting the signals from the stars...
I dream of a serene place
where the Earth's rotation slows...
Manipulating grief, dirty hands -
open the lid...
Seizing a chance in
a trice, in one dark September...
Small things were
witness to genes...
They manipulated the words
to cross the corridors of essence...
Crying buds
whisper to a mum...
A tree way out in the fields
broken branches, leafs on the ground...
I was born in springtime,
shades of daffodils...
Blossoming petals,
glistening in the spring rain...
Lift the rock once
again with cool thumb...