POETRY

Not in quantity

Of days,

But in quality of

Breaths in “awe”

Not in pilgrimage

Of flocks,

But in miracles of

Strangers’ smiles.

Not in flaky prophets

Or their twisted books,

But in conscience’s trial-and-error,

Which reluctantly looks.

Not in hollow-trophy of

Lust pursuits or conquests,

But in guilt-ridden

Scars of chasing-ghosts.

Not in mortality of

Standing tall,

But immortality-lessons of

Falling down.

Not in mayhem and chaos

Masking decadence,

But in solitude,

Embracing magical silence.