Poezja

A cyan globe
rolling in the black sky.
I was visualizing
an earthset
on the horizon.

Lianas
threw a noose
around my neck.
Did I
start the fires?

My dissent
was of any relevance?
Who was standing
on the moon?

Self-centered was your vision
I was trying
to turn the tide.

So much bragging
could not go well with me.
The tongue had the burnt taste.