She tells me she no longer lives
and she tells me she has lived what she didn’t leave.
I look at the morning in front of me and at a clever morning up there, always a morning.
I turn towards her and I commit discrimination
as the first discrimination is of a morning into faces.
Something seems taking shape on my shoulder into a dream just waking
and dreams never happily sleep in mornings, never happily continue for the day.
Two strong concentrations at war over a flat piece of land beating chaotic drums and a mouth of famine hovers
over a land of non sodium, fair sodium, melting sodium
and a strangeness who takes in and forgets,
takes out and forgets in a prevalent yellow dazzling itself in a crematorium.
I have seen jellies of an unforgetting childhood forget itself badly on a face.
I have seen the gloss remain as the untouched but proud, faked noon Sea
which signals with earthly winks, and whenever the earth has winked, it has been deadly sarcastic.
Hydrogens occur in pits. They create them and stay in them
and the concentration floating has always seemed a happy population living happily but unhappily.
The jellied population has been colors at war –
Black and white, brown and white, blue and white.
Colors clash to be friends or foes
and I have seen white accept in it making broader and attractive.
I have seen white become ghostly white when they resist the beautiful white.
My world is different where the Reds always dwell inside, they appear addressed as infections, the yellow as disease.
My world is different where colors blend into a new era of permutations and combinations.
A world where varities matter more than the skin.
And the world has seen the greatest war when the war is unseen.
A color tray where extremes are friends, commoners are enemies.
In my world one fights over ‘God having different colors’ and one fights over ‘Why God is unicolored?’
And here it is all with potent abilities and their possibilities, resting on my shoulder, wrapped under a blanket dream.
An unknown darkness weighing on a shoulder feels so light.
I don’t know how unknown it will be when it’s known.
The retina yawns the dawn of actions of men.
Ears are adamant enough to label their own music and blasts.
Tongue sticks either to itself or to many.
Lips spew and seldom preach love, hate, manipulation, anger, treachery only for some.
Hands oscillate as obsessions, fantasies, politics and terrorism.
Hair is either the murderer or the protector in one.
The body is just a target to love or kill.
My shoulder does carry –
from inorganic love to organic shits.
I am in a devastating news and prepare for my news more devastating
The good news is only a way to my news thats better.
I am neither for complete destruction nor complete peace,
always stuck with the bombed woman on my shoulder.
I continue and I die as a man who has known it all like an archaeologist’s calcium with unknown future.
I die with the immense weight of a man of 21st century
dying in his own century.