POSTPONE THE NEW DAY
The seven horses are tired.
They have never been so desperate
in this eternity
that they wanted to stop on the go,
sit down and cry,
and share the sorrow of the sun.
The sun doesn't even want to walk
for another morning,
the groan of the blood-soaked earth
penetrates deep into its fiery pores.
Alas! if it could control the clock,
it would postpone the new day.
***
STORM
Whenever the cannons fire,
the song of life
shatters to smithereens.
Cracked, crushed, groaning voices
can't even sing properly
the black husky music of death.
People listening to screams
in open pits
have fallen asleep forever.
Dark black smoke has
swallowed the sky
to cover the quiet eyes
glowing in the dark.
The storm has risen again.
***
FOUNDATION
The mountain was large and tall here
though flat at the height
as if Buddha was sleeping atop,
calm and unblemished.
Tree-lined foothills
looked like a forest
with plentiful ripened mangoes
smelling sweet
in the sporty wind
and the long trails running.
Now there are unpaved roads
covered with dust
and on their chest operating
are bulldozers, trucks, and machines.
Stone mafia covered the land.
The mountain breaks slowly,
inch by inch, into boulders.
The plinth of power gets stronger.
***
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