The green spring
hiking the load of sorrow
upon his shoulders
passed through the lanes of the gardens of our minds
We remained and the futile love
and the nudeness of the foliage of our minds
in the silence of a wintry night
We remained with
our deep desire
for the red apple
and the commemoration
of the greedy worm
lurking from the heart
of the bitten apple
to the garden of our minds
We remained with the setting of our star
and the endless touch of the sun
dying in the silence of our minds
and we whispered
“Love is a red rose
grown in a cold wintry night
with the streams of pain
flowing to her root
and our eyes are the headsprings of the streams”
Ah you and I
savour of melancholy, regret and despair
you and I grew in the explosion of the mirror
and we laugh at our belief
tearning into pieces….
