In Darkened Mood

Deflecting the logistical 
guide, you were 
becoming a juggernaut― 
running after the shadows of kites. 

Mute testimony of a 
bare cut of imagined 
willow, which would not weep 
for the winds. 

Becoming surrealistic, you 
knew too much of the truth, when 
you were drunk on lies. Why 
the poems were murdered in day light? 

First time looking at a large 
landscape, I skipped the beauty, 
the land and the clouds. 
Only the birds were flying.