Moment Is No More
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Throughout the transition
no place on earth is left
where blood is not shed.
Which day should i recount
that has not been engrossed
into the black hole of devil's act.
In a week, in a month or in a year
that is not slugged; except the moment
which has also been painted
by the devil's act, with the blood
of innocent for whom
spring waited to welcome
to play with in lovely garden.
Alas! it has to return back.
Who will shed tears to wash it
so as spring may enter
to watch blooming flower
and play with.
Perhaps, None !
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş