All we need to do is to write a few love poems.
To the sunlight which is weeping in a grey morning,
to the passing clouds of sudden past…
The movements to go away,
the careful city,
the listening avenues of tripping trees,
the concurrent crowds,
and the causes for the upset in our addiction…
all these,
all these have a bud of flower inside their heart to get our most romantic ideas.
This creation has been crafted to be indifferent and to do celebrations of deaths.
We have all seen it,
we have all seen how it comes from the edge of the cliff with casting wings located upto dots.
We have our doubts but our ships are plotted to the core of the current,
our job is just to create a mayhem in that whirlpool.
Individually or in a form of coexisting force.

……………………………………………………………. Photograph: Justine Brice Guariglia.