Between the yellow moon and black stones pours the river of mourning in maze of silent night.
At the top of the world – blue eyes were buried live, under the incense of palaces. They stood, unmoved in the corridors of metal tracks.
Mowed down with concrete, lights had gone from the windows. Unlit walls returned the legends. Dictators deferred the hanging -
Of truth. Decided to live in glass house for sometime. Lilies were growing between the graves. A green dagger was splitting open the wounds of mirrors in shame and fear.
