Xysma

My friend from aboveBetween those cloudsWe stand and
watchOur mind is greeting usBubbles of a clear dayAnd
the green plateu of angerA field,
not a rice fieldWe stand under the leaves of a treeThe
river is floating under our feetThe birds chirp and
the butterfliesAre searchingNo clouds in the skyThe
face of a friend is written into blue of the skyWorship
of the omnipotent sun (I dream)A dive into the mirageStraight-angled
deathThat instigates the air to reduceThe stench of
my heart diesI bury it in my selfishnessThe pain of
not knowing - a tense waitingA raging fear - when the
truth is nearWho is a friend?
The question of my lifeUnder the leaven tree - we wait for the answer