Your time

was not my time.

An arrow had pierced the space.

There was no past,

no present.

Only I had given you the future.

And now

a volcano will not sleep.

When the death

arrives from sky, how

will you welcome it

with broken heart?

When somebody is

burnt-out, would you collect

the ashes of poems?

The proceeds should go

to barren fields of human mind.

May be, a virgin marigold

bursts out.