Bitter Root Ghazalle

There is a bitter root uba
and a world of a thousand terraces.

Not even the smallest hand
break the water gate.

Where are you going? where to? where?
There is a sky of a thousand windows
~livid bee battle~
and there is a bitter root.

bitter.

It hurts in the sole of the foot,
the inside of the face
and it hurts in the fresh trunk
freshly cut night

Love! my enemy
bite your bitter root!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There is a bitter root
and a world of a thousand terraces.

Nor does the smaller hand
breach the water door

Where are you going? Where, Where?
There, a sky of a thousand windows
—a battle of raging bees—
and a bitter root.

Bitter.

A pain in the sole of the foot,
the inside of the face,
and pain of the sapling
of night newly cut down.

My love, my enemy,
bite your bitter root.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ghazal of the Bitter Root

There is a bitter root
and a world of a thousand tiers.

A wall of water refusing to stand
still for even the smallest hand.

Where are you going? To where? Where?
There is a heaven with a thousand windows
~at odds with angry bees~
and there is a bitter root.

Scathing.

It pierces the sole of the foot,
reaches out from behind the eyes
and can make the young in body fold
as fully as night devours the skies.

Sees it! My enemy~
it bites, your bitter root!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~