& life goes on
the title of many stories
could be this
anything that could've been
touching the heart of a petrified panther
could be this....
in broad white street light
which the general people call, ''the sun''
only to gather moisture
around...
only to touch
the strings of pain.... of love...
to play a bright music
over the overflowing fountain of redness
like a head has just been chopped off
almost in a notion that,
he'll never bear a friut
like they do in coconut trees
outside my window pane...
---- this statement will flow down in river
said the curtains of my prison!
the gentle breeze answered,
''life goes on"
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