PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The crisis starts boiling 
about the invisible foes. 
The contraptions hope to recapture 
the moods. 

Harsh, arrogant and ritualistic. 
In the stark nudity of silence 
a wooden Buddha lies on the 
floor crying. 

“ I am not happy, I am not happy. 
Why were you still a virgin? ” 
White butterflies will not sit 
on jasmines to lose their script. 

There was a black moon to chase 
the fugitive. There will be no midnight 
sun. Between lips and cups 
the grey fox had lighted a lamp.