Writing from the bank of that old river of
Only shadows of memories!
Render me a small help:
Please hear me a little.
From decades ago?
(Seasons have merged into years,
Years have faded
In the flow of malignant moments.)
Yeah! Decades ago
I sang a lot
On the sandy banks of Melancholia
In the emerald islands,
My tears falling like
As trees shedding its leaves.
Now in this present
I lie alone, covered by chits of prescriptions
Like an AIDS infected syringe.
In the transactions of polity
Germs of disease constitute sales deeds.
The spy is sucking my blood
Through his white slings.
The supervisor is shedding his cruelty
Through his laughter,
Exposing his world of swollen gums.
Histories are wiped away
In blood spilled when the boils were incised.
Blood is coming from the distant hills,
Corpses are nearby on the shores,
Heart breaking truths.
From the lamp with seven wigs
Shine your crimson luster,
The peace of the soil
Where the seven colors fight solace,
Where seven notes overflow
Onto the hills,
Where did we meet last?
Where did we sing our last song together?
Forgetfulness is a tightened reminiscence,
Sorrows and words flow
Remember, words are my experience,
Mere words are my experience.