Who needs food now
when the
boat is sinking
in the ocean
of deserts:
and food
four times a day
kitchens,
hotels, roadside kababs
these never
make me live
a dead rat
in a grannary
I rot, none
gave me the
tonic to
revive my desires.
I am born to
die
not to eat
eat and eat
I am hungry
to see mating clouds
birthing,
lightings
I am hungry for
the warm kiss
which will
hydrate
my passion
for life
revive my
lethargy like poetry
in the race
course of nothings.
He left
promising acres of diamond
gods always
promise good life
like the
unpaid astrologer
in a friendly
banter.
He is now, I
hear
the child of
immortality
feeding on honeydew
in some
uncharted land
let me fly
away to him
to chart his mortality.
.
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