Without shadow
an agony, slits me open.
As when I bleed.
I write a poem.
It hurts,
when you touch the words,
the lines, the paragraph-
the page.
From teaching
to be a learner-
a long odyssey from-
innocence to scream.
My namesake, my akin
dies daily. I dig a mass grave
to find my twins,
where the god lived.