I have heard that 
it rains diamonds on jupiter.
But am not sure about it, 
just like a fish, 
unsure of the blueness of the sky.
What I adore is the 
shining dream of such impossibility.
The calmness of that 
three dimensional tragedy.
The unkind death of smoke 
it will cause.
The aftermath of  clutched breath
of shadow hued corals in the soil.
The helplessness of an echo which disappeared before being born.
The nakedness of sky 
pulled over into an unfinished bowl.
The forgetfulness of seeds to rise.
The carving of ruin.
The truth is  
Jupiter doesn't fit
in the mirror of my head. 
Keep it in my urn,
and if there is a future, 
let archaeologists wonder about 
the shame it holds. 
Because,
The world is burning, 
and
so am I.
This means,
today is a nice day 
to turn into water 
which decides its own state of matter .

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