Poetry

It is the truth which 
never was. After many 
deaths I will come to you 
to repeal my verses. 
 
The festering earth was 
making the rains green, 
to suck the dry sands 
thrown by the angry winds. 
 
The soul upturns the body. 
You will crawl in a tunnel 
to come out for sedation 
accepting the karma. 
 
A non-acceptance of the 
straitjacket. Let the anxiety 
rise like a beast.