The same trees were there when I first saw rain…
Water drops seeking the gravity, brushing, eloping the green existence.
Utopic green rain.
The first time I slept through the idea of fascism…oh my; all hell broke through,
red shadow inside this child’s dreams.
I played something silently…with moistures in my fingers…felt like kissing…felt like resplendent intercourse.
Is it not kind of insane to not get mad even after a semicircle motion inside this thunder storm?
My city lives through misseles and ephimeral slogans today…
Trees are gone inside the melancholic soil…
And I feel old…the poet feel old…fascists smile with one set of teeth.