Years after years, after the repeated

release, until the thousands were done—

Guess, I'll be still waiting somewhere for

rotten roses, rattling in the ground beneath

that might've been shaken so hard, but 

with what— you wonder, time for the time

going backwards, seeds: embracing their

bed of state in the ground, hosting their

way up in the mysterious way, but the 

night was just started, the future and past

was compassed, dwindling in oblivion. 

You see, the night only had twinkled,

Like clock, going backwards: seeds

were turning red, roaring in blasted

youth, the bed where they found

centuries of sleep, was turning into a dead end. 

But I imagined a perplexed body

and mind, where no one knew

what's beyond this body or shine, 

a simple thump-pump-thump-pump, 

so I kept the flashlight on this flash mob, 

without knowing the jump. 

— 23rd April, 2024.