War.
Who again is climbing the walls of war after the death of soldiers?
Who will show us how swords and guns turned the dusk to nightly behavior and
erased the power of blood
shedded on ground that birds could drink and live on.
Who shall wake us when the morning appears to show the way of living this life without a war and it’s helmet?
Garden of waters.
Behind the riverside,
Beyond the Sandside,
Where bamboo got pillow to cover its pregnant, so as not to feel cold by the movement towards coldness.
Who is in the garden of that we can visit to explain our thoughts, how we are being forced to eat the bitterness and how our arms are helpless and our tears comes no more.
Who is in the garden that can’t believe us for a while so we can live there together and taste the sweetness of life?.
Who is in the garden where morning and night meets and perishes in twinkle of an eye?
Garden of war is not a garden but battle field.
