Yet the shedding of blood
Is the rich man’s headache…
And what of the poor man’s justice?
In truth, water is too cool
To bring forth your anguish!
Fire is the only solution!
Drink fire to end your injustice.
Silence is each lover’s desire,
Yet the poor man’s unbearable pain.
Making a din is the only right choice
To put forth your final demand.
Dew is but the conspiracy
Hatched between the rich and their kings,
While morning is but the first step
Of each poor man’s sufferings..
Recently bought and colored deep greenThe road in front was laid smooth and wideAnd the car was moving with break neck speedWhile the mild breeze was kissing my sleepy faceFor the first time I felt our lovely mother landSo sweet and delicate so beautiful and freshOn the road men and women were very fewAnd the…
They have so much at hand to disposeYet they love to feel voidThey sing not the nightingale insideNot allow the muse to write they haveThe child they got but let it not to danceYet they go to feel emptyAnd envy the ocean which has nothing except the waves;Inside them I see a mineFull of minerals…
If so, then, the same must have invented sleepThat covers us like a cloak and becomes a meansTo hungry to avoid hunger or provides drink to thirstyPeace to those who are disturbedRest to those who are tiredHealing to woundedAnd makes an equal a beggar to a kingA proud to humble, all wonderful men to an…
I won the struggle of meaninglessnessWithout a stroke or without a killA bag of pleasure and few bottles of delightFrom the world of valuelessI carried them like precious pearlsJam packed and tight in the wagon of my headIn this harbor of stupor, lazily, I spreadWith much effort and hard laborIn the bank of tranquility I…
Let alone few menAs we are unknown to ourselvesIn that senseWe are facing strangersAt every momentIn this strange worldWe behave like ourselvesAnd we just imitateThe stranger in usTo avoid troubleDo as Romanians doWhen you are in RomeBut what will you doWhen a RomanianComes to your home?Keep doing as you are in Rome.
I am in search of a carve to hide myself in jet blackWhere a bathing pose is not taken as vulgarityAnd after rubbing my tongue against the cavity of my mouthI do not produce same kind of monotonous tunesThe art of deception is now a known fossil,No curiosity is roused within mewith hate or loveas…
