Mortals are good readers of grief.
In a nameless city, there’s a claim
mortals do not know how to read things
written, and poems scribbled – a light
for their pathway into Eden, the new one.
How else does a man prophesy blindness
to his eyes but by feigning it?
In same city, a man as old as a country
says he doesn’t think God exist.
How would I talk him into believing
the written word? This is not a failure!
This man whose heart is a rusty cell
wouldn’t allow himself to be imprisoned.