Civil Resistance

Being me 
like a butterfly I cannot 
fold the wings. 

Why do we need to 
burn the orchard grass 
for an interim exit. 

My bête noire was me. 
I would not separate the 
statecraft from worship. 

Snubbing the trees, 
I want to climb tall to know, why 
were we using sarin and mustard. 


On the road to avatars, 
I won’t believe, that a released 
soul should come back. 

Robotic, someone was 
searching a lost forest.