Listening to the voices of silence―
of beautiful triangles,
plagiarizing the
straight lines from nowhere
I lost my way to
find you.

I don't have numbers
nor zeroes. Only angles
to solve my pathless destiny.

In spiral mysteries,
would you ever climb the
stairs of a minaret, reaching moon?

You wanted a black rose
without barbs.

How does the blood flow without veins
on the cheeks of sun?

A hurt activist
disappears in the clouds
without wings.

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.