Life unrolls into a paper sheet
when I read poetry
as mere combination of words.
I can't see the turns and twists hidden in life.
I am poet, yearning for understanding.
And I hope
when I tumbled into an abyss
with my blacks and whites,
with my blues and greens,
and with my yellow sparrows
and red, crimson twilights,
I was understood by a soul very near
A blackie from the conference of birds
That sang songs celestial
She is dead and gone,
and now reborn into the planet
with a luster of unknown stars
and cool of unknown streams.
Forests have a sigh of the bygone bliss
and skies roam in winds
with the messages for the coming days.
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