You have clean hands.
You don't hide.
I can read your signs.

The rising violence
makes the rich tombs. You
stand like a Buddha.

From the ashes, you
can build a Homer's Troy.
I will not visits the site.

The legacy of moon
suffers. The doormats become
rich. Why fake daddies?

A brain stops midway
in jungle of no words.
You want to sing.

You are scared of me
for receiving the gifts.