Poetry

To find peace, 
you break the coconut, 
a ritual to dent 
the dark night. 
 
Amnesia disconnects 
your pronouns. 
You do not remember 
your name. 
 
A monkey or a fowl. 
The existence was 
the same for your 
unknown inheritance. 
 
Want to collect the golden 
motif; from the 
old brick house, sans 
a real god, old brick house. 
 
A straight line hangs 
from a roof, igniting the 
faith. There was no ghost 
no jinni.