Poem 5

From the ashes
of my dreams,
I decorate the floor
and again
stare at the skies
lying in wilderness.
Before crowds choke me
I want to kick
the comforts and
make decorations for her.
and then march to my
own funeral chanting
Allah! Allah!
Also want to make
working friendship
with sorrows,
wring the neck
of all questionmarks
and declare,
"O darkness of the shade,
may you spread all over!"
Truth rings so false
that illusions seem
cosy. Swallow the
words looking
at the line of fate.
Doomsday was promised,
then if it doesn't,
what can mere bushes
do?