You were tied
to weird questions,
since the saga began.
Praise your maker, look
how do I kill me, by
raising you― bit by bit?
I was riding a tiger.
In truth what was
not possible, when the
palace burned?
Who will explain
the intrigue,
the mystery of disappearance
when the eyes can
see through.
Small, too small
to make a hole in the heart
a piquant word,
which bleeds the poem.