In a spark rising from a stony passage
Living life germinated as a geometrical point
Looking at the crawling dance of hill snakes
In the sub-tropical region of your unconscious self
You were enchanted
Gazing at the sharp lines of lightning
In the slanted eyes of the earth
Criss-cross with scratches
You opened up the beginning of history
Of living and letting live
A glitter through the gaps of barren life’s
Is it life?A faultless imitation of life
In the severed tail of a household gecko.
You kept a pitcher of wine
In this inn of life
A discoloured message of a crawling desire.
Showers of fire particles blow
Through the turbulent noon
Into the eyes of time.
The cords moving the puppets
Futile are your preparations
For this barren evening;
You woke up from the raw sleep
Broken by the fatigue of wailing
And heard only the whistle of the leaving steamer.
But did you know,
You are only an artificial flower made of fish scales
Captive on the wall.
The door is closed, the insignia buried
In the chest-deep silt of a closing day.