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?
In the winter nights
The old singer went for a walk in dripping dew
Nightingales joined his last song
It was a scriptless rhyme
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?
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?
Red, yellow, violet flowers?
In stars from Aries to Pisces?
Within the exclamation marks in books?
In fragrant sighs emanating from dead?