Every known thing used to be unknown
And every rock could become a stone
Someday nature will have to atone
When soul sees dead flesh leaving the bone

Death is buried there into death
Hunger strikes on its own last breath
No spine to shiver, no heart talks
At life’s craving poverty mocks

From the poem 'Exhumation

Written soul is called poetry

If I die today, will you remember me tomorrow?
The love I'm leaving behind, will you care to borrow?
From a snake-shed-skin or from the sky unknown
In all living and the dead I'll dwell to groan

Every morning
before the birds start
trilling me their stories,
I give birth to a new love
through my same old heart
when a lake’s placidity
finds life in the swans breath
Only for you...

From the poem 'Only For You

When sighs are hypnotized by sorrow
Happy moments you need to borrow
From a little child or from a bird
Who has the wild freedom of soul: stirred!