The hypocrisy of southern lands,
in the isle where dawns were wealthy,
you were among them.
Your robe was the finest, the thickest.
Charming was your honour; we tumbled to know you.
Even the fishing nets awed the beauty they wished to capture.
But my eyes doubted you.
Your touch felt like poison, but I let it slide,
since my trust for you was an evergreen paradise.
I rejoiced knowing you.
My companion forever
became a dismantle forever.
You ruled out my pages
as if you owned those treasures.
But I stayed silent,
knowing you were a kind hummingbird,
moving forward, regardless of the ugly flower
that blooms at sun dawn.
If you knew there was a loss,
why go with the flows?
After delicate pressure,
through passive stance,
became an empty clasp,
withholding the fury of time
when all you have is a limp,
crushed in bones,
as narrow slits through,
crosswords in your sins.
Once you met justice,
you pushed through injustice,
so you could go through trials
of impaired status.
Just like a lotus
surrounded by water,
desiring to be on land
when all it could do was dive.
All you could do was lose
in a preferable array
of blood‑moon bath.
I would have told the world of your sins,
but I decided to show
to the lens of your wrath.
Your image is your soul.
My dignity is my whole.
You sing rules like tunes;
I treat rules like laws —
the laws you failed to follow.