Every now and then
a poem coiled in scroll of an acumen...

Such inverse efficacy:
Rocks grind...

When we reach the summit
of any genre of truth...

Days are withering in vain
corroding like my chain...

Such a strange affair
in between here and there...

For the sake of silence,
we have to distance ourselves...

Being a gender is too tight
a dungeon...

If there is a promise to make
it is to the truth...

Was it always between us this way
how our oblivion sways...

Please goodness if you exist out there.
give me some hint show me some twinkles...

Look how the moth swapped
its withered yellow wings with...

I was really burning for your caressing hands
until I learned just in my illusion...