On the cover of my next poetry book, instead of descriptions, there shall be an appetizer (of sorts):
Once more
the Haiku lore
is broken
Count
as you may.
No foray.
It
shall not
help us.
No-thing
can help.
Too late.
The ancient pond -
water unstill.
No peace.
The frog
of poetry
leaped.
All
that remains –
stands by.
One day,
we too
shall stand
in the center
of the capital,
and hear the
alarm of time
reminding us
to recall
to miss
to long
those memories.
Alas,
the memories
are
long gone.
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