4.

Fresh from ritual smog,
gather round the pagan square.
Brick upon his last words
Carved onto the mud puddle clear
as the sacrifice kisses farewell to him:

“Your eyes glitter like steel stars
That orbit around my earth all time.
Glance your infrared lights to this human shell,
My love, you are and reflect sun’s warmth onto skin.
When elders in suits have gone senile,
Let acid tears in your hair, orange as the noon sky,
Burn brightly, a supernova they won’t forget!”

The sun shone silently on the placid puddle.
Once a mirror to his vermillion hair and stinging sweat,
That now smokes sweetly,
Untouched to skies, with his companion
and other golden vessels on
the 54th floor, that chant and ignite before
gods of screens and clothes.



6.

She invites you to the bar,
(Human holograms already faded away)
On top of iron planks,  
She perches there, raven skirts and
Cyan hair flying in sultry;
Free from once ferocious fans,
She sighs her binary birdsong here.

Cracking here, airy whisper there,
(Though deep inside, every molecule of his shatters,
Oscillating back and forth to the pendulum of her sound)
She stops. The mildewed stage
Echoes, never reaching the cupola, while he raptures.

Viva Voce! And with that,
They drink away; Her on faux images of soda
And him on her
As she emits static tears on him.
From forgotten fans, musicians and numbers

“Clutch through my airy skin
And grant it this from the abyss:
real l…love…
My Liberator.”

The scarlet sun sighs.

“One death is a tragedy, a million is a statistic” – Joseph Stalin


The dead gears of a photo book turn
Again, they turn and the screws unwind
They squeak of lye,


“We pirouette to the singing air,
Where our temples are being built.
Won’t you burn with us and
Feast upon the rain of silver and gold.

Dare you come into the circular meadow?”



<On your deathbed, I was the one by the door.
When everyone close vaporized to the flooding trend
My arid eyes of sands linger, clutched in hands.



The gossip of the toe-jammed streets
Crowd, a chorus that hums their cantata,>


“Shh. Spring, she stains. Nature’s council erect again,

The scarlet sun sighs.

They’ll soon start building more trees, and birds shall march up.
Honk, honk! They bellow as they zoom away in vain
Leading a trail of ebony moths in mourning soot,
Lured and sparkling to glades of vitreous rays.

The rusted rainforest affirmed to asphalt
Shrouded in mustard morning mist, gazes up
Each spring, as the crane builds pillars, higher and higher and away
But no! They will deforestate by May.
They’ll explode flat to the littered floor where the smog and darkness
Smother over bejewelled jaguars, predators in pelts.



<The oasis curls to the drop of her blood,
With a struggle, the moon ripples and then lies still.
Her fiery hands, lilies once stiffly held by him,
But now no more at last sank past the hill.

Shh. Spring rains come. The snow starts to melt.”
Thus they lamented in the temple square
And dispersed back, abandoning orchids of trash.
While in the snowy distance, the countryside,
Remaining pilgrims grope and awake from hibernation.
Thin as a stick, face adorned by hunger and hope.
They resume the march to the temple,
Coins and starving babies in their jingling purse.

Once they all left, I came to the window
There, the cadaver bed glares at me.>

Before the end of spring, they’ll all wilt from heat
Ivory irises and so will acidic acacias,’

Country or city, their brittle tears drop. ‘What lies. ‘


<I stare into the jungle, at your memory that grows warmer
Dreams of titanium bells ringing as iron clashes.
The deserted landscape though fades to fog
And like fireflies, explodes, then dims as>

The scarlet sun sighs.