You were born with
a golden tongue.
When I shut my eyes,
I hear a Beethoven.
In a back vision,
the future tricks. You
become older to me.
Author of beauty, will write
a new chapter, revising the old
script― when ink is scarce in soft tears.
Can you mix the color of doomsday
with a rising moon, sitting
on a blind eagle?
There was always
a tussle between fire and sea.
When the ship was burning, brine
dried up.
Where now, we will grow
out lilies, if sky doesn\'t cry.