Many don’t find life worth dying for
when they do find death worth living for.
The wooden cat squeals out different worlds each day,
of which only two are felt.
Parrots stand on a duality of either being feathery or metallic
The later is made to wait for its tweet, suppressed by time, revived by it, forgotten by it
and the other never remembers, even its recent last word,
as seeing with speaking is dominance over time,
forgetting it at will.
My ‘hello’ dies in two strata – one where I reside
and the one where they never hear about my residence.
Transparent ghosts at four corners of a square head, leaning their dead faced curiosities over me,
silent whispering, ‘fear is symmetrical’,
effortlessly groping, choking, killing my stinkiness,
scavenging on my inseparable duality.
I walk; I walk and crawl on the new coated wall
The soft legs stop twice, the soft belly meets the ground twice.
Now I am in the alluring middle, the dangerous middle
where I confuse between different dualities
consisting of me and a chemical head to casually squeeze at the stair’s start,
of me and some green hairs hanging down my roof equally rebellious, equally stiffened,
of me and the one conjuror cloth, the color changer
revealing a nudity clothing nakedness or vice versa
all being mine and theirs, all being me and them and yet I am wanted in between
to acknowledge and to feed being my rightful animalistic, on the acknowledgement
I pop out my tongue and colors stick onto it before I can retract
The lizard man hatches his mothers, fathers, wives, sons and daughters of dualities
Each one a imitator of the other, follower of the other,
dependence on self or on the other is a special division
with identical skulls and trying to be identical later leaving an addictive duality.
And the world hasn’t known and will never know what it has known
It will be happy enough, being the accumulated death in my eye corner.
It has never remembered, it will never remember
I can never be it that is starting at life, starting at death
A tinned food pipe will always turn a tinned awe
when cleverly murdered by live leathers
We all are promised at some stage we would be of some fun
but that just demands one of our singularities from our duality
We now show that we divide and that is all to it.
Still I die today, you die tomorrow
I and you, we evaporate and fly.
The egg, a duality in itself
A good truth with its lie, a good truth and its lie;
A good truth for its lie, a good truth of its lie.