Healing
Every wound is indebted.
A handful of saltwater heals it.
Tree or sky – anything can give a coating to it.
Yet the wound survives agelessly,
to repay the debt.
Crossing over
In the moist evening, when a person crosses the river alone,
the ferryman knows, in the pretence of helping the person
cross the river, he himself is making a journey from one life
to another.
The End
When a person crosses the bar,
becomes a sinner.
In the dark evening, the road I am walking on
is full of dirt.
The evergreen forest gets burnt
when there is no love.
Hunger and thirst remain at the end.
Poems of all of this journal came from the inner soul and experience. All poems with editorial is a classy presentation.