My heart is full of windows
That open to the green pastures of leisure
That open to the direction of wind
That open to the transformation of shadows.
The journey to friend’s home
Is ripe with metaphors
Behind blue doors
And remember
To not grieve
When the heart sheds its clothes
Beside the pregnant lake of loneliness.
The sky may extend
A friendly hand to
A sad faced passerby
And dreams shall hatch
Like eggs
In his eyes.
In this room
In this ashen room
Of my small existence,
A bird on the rooftop is spreading its wings,
As gently as life in my palm,
With hope drawn from a child’s breast
I shall soar above green dreams.
