A crisp moon rejects the night,
the words retreat, like fallen truths.
Stillness was palpable
silhouettes moved in vacancy.
And we did not know where to go,
how to find the cause of life.
World surged forward like a spider.
The dust, the heat and a breathing sorrow
met in the twilight of immaculate pain.
I hated the drooping lights and burning of feathers.
Birds were dumb to say how cruel the benevolence had been.
I fell upon a thorn who witnessed my incarceration.
A fire in my eyes, I glowed like a volcano.
Fogs were hanging like veils on eyes of moon.
I tasted lichens in mouth.
The tragic intimacy of an old poem.