There will
always be coming home,
to men who
know how to cry,
to women
who know how to sing by the moon
and to a
little girl who does not want to stay inside
the shell of
this small universe.
*
Don’t freeze
the lava, it may blow
right to the
core of its nucleus
but we know,
with energy comes life
and with
life, everything burns to die.
*
I am a
narcissist with a certain stroke,
I say of luck
upturned. Trust me,
when I
mention fate, I am as numb as that
dead ox on
the highway,
spilling
white skin around with a tinge of ocean red.
But I am
waiting for a re-arrangement,
rather
metamorphosis
when I wake
up to the rule again
with the
violin again in the senses.
*
The mogul
says aloud, he will trade the world.
The eyes
shine, in awe and tears
but I sit in
this farthest corner of the galaxy I assume
Spinning with
laughter to this foolishness
because they
don’t know what I know
and what I
know is a paradox
which no
matter what, won’t be resolved
till the
mogul trades the world
and till the
deal ceases.
Remember not
everything is a secret.
4 comments:
You are an amazing poet !!!
This is a wow one :)
I don't know if this is metamorphosis, but it certainly is a coagulation of ideas, pent up ideas.
I don't want to change the world, a world that is not mine.
Cheers,
Blasphemous Aesthete
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