It’s About the Journey 

I .. 
carrying spears tipped revenge 
tired stabbed the night sky 
challenging scorching scratch trace amounts 
These fingers full of soot 
of old anger 

I awake in the desert 
on lush grass 
there was no sign 
is apparently 
ground istirah 
for the dreams that have been exhausted 

no trunks of fallen 
then the sharp rocks 
I fault him spear Leave 
I was about to fall down 
sleep with dreams of the past 
the long-neglected 

roar of the wind 
bringing news of the sea 
about a distant shore I leave 
about silent canoe sheath 
a hurry I Tie 

I’ll wait for the boat 
bitter wound is still too real