THE BREEZE TELLS ME

The breeze tells me,
I can’t kiss the flowers,
And fill in the wings of butterfly.

The breeze tells me,
How cold the seas are,
In the north & south.
The life on ice.

The breeze tells me,
How the lovely birds,
Men & women, the skykissing trees,
Are spread on the land.

The breeze tells me,
How men are toiling,
For a loaf of bread,
And piece of loincloth.

The breeze tells me,
How inmates waiting for trials,
For crime they never committed.

The breeze tells me,
How unable I am,
Can’t celebrate the mirth of heaven,
Can’t tolerate the grief of hell.