Poetry

Fixing the dignity 
like a fabulous sarcophagus 
you are unsparing in your generosity. 
 
You left one window open 
for the saint of wax 
to let in the light. 
 
Keeping him alive for – 
a fake functionality 
to run the community. 
 
There was a long queue 
of people to offer the wooden roses 
before the wound heals. 
 
Who was eternal in this 
vanishing universe? Do- 
not stop me of if I start bleeding.