Poezja

Burning the pages
unread.
A daunting task
to rebuild the bruised relic,
 
of future, which I see
in my dream. This was―
the desire, till
the last flame dies out.
 
I am not sure of
myself. I will chase
a spider, climbing the
wall. I want to know where
 
it was heading, carrying
a headless fly, to bury
a spotless name in the
web of mortal threads.