Poezja

Wanting to die young
hairy and unbaked,
not telling the truth.
It was a savage vendetta.
The crowd was not on your side.
In manic intensity,
they shouted- death to the veils
in holiest dip.
I repudiate the presumptiveness.
A super religion gives birth
to a devil- another godman.
In chains, I will carry
a cloud. Very disquieting.
There was no water.
The seeds crawl-
underground in the wake of earthquake.
Collecting the tears to grow.
It is a blank summer.
The fat spiders open the eyes.