So normal, the poverty
makes you rich...
Closed eyes...sealed mouths
numbed by a pregnant moon...
Dying with minutes
in dark, when the sun...
She feels the ground sigh beneath her
As she weaves in and out of trees so tall...
Unsung, the crazed,
follows an ailing Buddha...
The soft pain lashes
in a bizarre manner. You...
Like clones, your hands
embrace, winding up...
I was hurt,
I speak...
Now is the point that
the past and prospect fasten...
To break free from
existential spin, I will...
Spider weaves the
net. You walk in the named...
Like a forgotten
love child, are you same as...