I woke up clutching the dreams in deluge of tears.
Night had a brackish taste, the other side of moon was dark.
One by one, the stars were dying
Ideas were no longer candles in gale.
The final thought of liberty
demanded a tribute to partners in revolt.
I wanted a sunlit corner in the blighted sky of hopes.
Instead of scorched impulse of a mob injured
truth, walking alone.
Give me a bitter fruit of certainty.
I don’t want to lose myself in fogs.
The truth must meet the lie - alone, in woods of craft.
