THE LOST

At a stage of lunacy

I began to introspect

The water was muddy and impure

Lots of fish were flowing belly-up

Whales were raging ships

Secrets of love hidden in black holes

Tiny insects moving in the magic of the universe

Dreams wore the guise of scorpions

Virgins were thinking of their past

What must be the past tense of virginity?

(Two)

In the winter nights

The old singer went for a walk in dripping dew

Nightingales joined his last song

It was a scriptless rhyme


(Three)

Moon’s heart was entangled in thorny fences

Pet dogs bark in disdain

Blacksmith bursts bellow in western skies

Iron bars melting were transformed into fetters

Who are the mad ones to be fettered?

(Four)

Oh, mover of the crowds,

Where were you lost in history?

In the flaming struggles in city squares?

In the rhyming waves of rural lakes?

In the spasm of swimming whales

Or in the hissings of venomous snakes?

In depressions?

Among colors?

Red, yellow, violet flowers?

In stars from Aries to Pisces?

Within the exclamation marks in books?

In fragrant sighs emanating from dead?