Poetry

My nativity at peril 
I wanted to stay away from myself 
seeking anonymity in inwardness 
 
Death had drawn a circle 
my mode of survival depended on 
the hopelessness of life 
The ant-hills were growing! 
 
The final assault will take place at night 
at spiritual depths. 
I will be seething with fake acoustics. 
Kissing the blue lips of dawn 
night bids adieu. 
I will move quietly behind the corpse 
A dark tribute to the mother of sorrow. 
 
Flames on river, my body was burning 
in blue waves 
I was repeating history.