কবিতার পাতা

The sky is moaning

with silver tears

in the mirror of your time

smoothing slowly

an exile of silence

it feels

the voice of complaint

like denied water

to the flower of essence

of rare and boring shadows

it disturbed your cheeks

you asked for love

to eat your bones too

and the few pieces of skin

hanging from the breaths

barely restricted

you

the hostage of a soul

greedy for comfort

you wanted everything

and you had nothing.