Poetry

The night calling. I start 
the search for survivors. 
A loquacious day shuns 
the clouds. 
 
A black hole. I move in circles. 
A star was going down in an 
abyss. To think, was a taboo subject. 
A naivete' towards perceiving. 
 
You can keep your eyes open 
and not discern any frame. 
A hand will not find another 
hand in neighbourhood. 
 
There was less sexism without 
the chair. The paradox was no - 
body wanted to discuss the 
markers of malignancy. 
 
The house was up for the sale 
deleted from the manuscript.