Words were unable to explain
the darkness of unholy marriage,
of terror with chrysanthemum.
And bullet did not know the target
it flew on command to kill the smell of a man.
My song now hangs like a dirty laundry
on the wall of peace.
Death of green eyes, must come in few days.
The lamps will mourn for the light.
I wonder sometimes, when time comes
How I will kiss the death
And how death will embrace me.
The songs and art in this book are about our collective emergence after the pandemic and trauma of the last few years - comprised of 5 collections: World as Refuge, Where We Live, In Our Hands, Rhythms of Change and What We See & Sow.
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