One day, the Dust said to a Broom,
“Love, sweep me off the floor...

From within a ground, roots grow deep
like screams I hear in my sleep...

There's this thing called the ego,
It likes sitting on the passanger seat...

On one hell of a morning, when the lair of an evil...
“Mr. J...

It is through you, my beloved, poetry
that I have found a universe...

Who am I but some matter
that matters not in the entire universe...

Oh Wind!
i am just a twig...

Poetry, no one knows you as much as I do,
you are not beauty born from roots...

"Stop it, you are splashing it all over...
Water spits clarity...

There once was a flower
so wild and rare...

Has the Wind stop blowing?
said the frog with loud croaks...

It appears
people don't enjoy the beating of my heart...