Oh stormy night

pitch black
that night has come
with tearful eyes

set free in the trees…
between falling leaves

Bodhisattvas on barren land
the night passes by so slowly
over green winter fields

waves on fairy lights
my night
an icicle hangs under it

At The Match

Above the filling clusters of people,

fluttered moths and insects of night

in the revealing rays of stadium light,

who care not for the flight of beetles

when echoed growls follow the rite

and crackles of colored light,

while monsoon brought no evils

only drizzle colored grey against night.