It feels, again, like being a silkworm
Cocooned in a shell built upon its own saliva,
Reflecting the memory-aches,
With one thread hanging out of the shell
Living beyond time and space,
Which might be inferred as a calculation inside the cocoon.
The illusion, that it isn’t dark, inside, could be smudged easily
For darkness always stays in each corner
Wherever there is the name of a god.
The ‘Roza’ felt betrayed for the first time, in the naïve summer,
When the caramel of your lips was offered, a perquisite.
The religion had died many years ago, in my dry womb,
Before it could see the light of day as an infant,
And, before it could suckle the usual fluid
Of naivety from the nipples of slumber.
In retrospect… I feel, I can do the same again
For that ride to the wonderland. For one kiss.
Feet intersecting, mine placed upon yours,
Souls worshiping the void while standing
In the middle of another void,
With number seventeen at the end of its name.
The smell of the neon light grows stronger,
More and more intense as time transforms…
I could feel the gangrene
Growing in your stomach
The blues stay with us
In the saliva of that one kiss
Which remains our first and last
Ride to the wonderland.