I asked the suicide bomber,
“why you want to throw yourself
to your death
scattering arms and legs? ”

A beautiful moon
then, rammed into a golden lake
to find the secret age of
a wee god.

I felt the colossal waste
and said, look within first
and then cross the river
of arguments.

Like a diamond ring
I wear the truth of morning sun.
My heart will ask, what was
the role of night in draping
the stars around the deceiver.