The Iron Gate

Do not remember the names.
Somebody is waiting in the wings.

It is very dark here. The drums
will break the mother’s heart.

The death will not accept the
dew on the grass. She wants tears;

The Buddha is taking a turn
in his sleep. Why is he so restless?

O, my father, I am watching the
fields turning into piles of ash.

Cannot shut the eyes for a jiffy.
Will you write something for the god?