Man alone gets hope
Poet is not a God even a minimal one;
On seeing his small boats
sink one after another
Sent towards the foggy
islands of human recognition
That pathetic messiah
should have ceased
making efforts
Waiting for the sun
to descend while
his griefs breed:
But hoping the vast night
may bring back the sky
To hang stars and moon
over the treetops,
The blue lake may
revive little hopes.
He is fixing up for another.
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