The dissemination of bullets seeded the womb of...
the land’s arms opened...

We would never become a set of wings,
if we do not tear from...

In the confluence
of two opposite successions...

"You have to burn in order to shine"
_ this was a burning moth susurrating...

I picked the apple,
took a bite, crushed in between...

I flew to aeon
when a fleeting butterfly...

Darkness never takes completely over
even after the light is...

In the name of Indian warriors
the first nation of truth...

The loneliest alley was the alley
everyone passing through...

She shines and soaks in every star
in the blooming night...

God is quiescent.
To sound there must be two things...

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