The Emptiness

Can the emptiness

eavesdrops to its own words

by its ears lucidly

in the darkness wrapping its room,

in the sound of beating its ear,

in the breathing in and out,

in the sight shimmering its eye,

in the taste arousing its tongue,

in the wrinkling its body by the winds ,

in the kissing bloom by the breeze and

in the leaf falling out of the tree?


Rhyming a moment the song of the morn

set just the morning sluggishly

in the greenery of the clear and clean forests

revealed the soaring pitch concealed in it.

May divulged it either

in the heat of thundering clouds or

in the frost of the freezing storms?


In the disease of alarming itself

by the severe wounds

bemused account at the spot

for a pretty long period

broadening and spanning

that never bringing to light in the eyes

may be already stolen by someone,

Yes ! It’s because the emptiness there.