a lifeless desert
holds the ancient tribes’
forgotten script

in a sequence
time scatters the rhymes
of our story’s lines

can we perceive
the shattered letters,
the messages sent?

innocent,
though back in time;
is it now forgiven?

we sail toward fairyland
without a map,
the compass made of stars

Man is mere delicacy
When kissed by the mosquito;
And the mosquito is a lover,
When trapped in the spider’s net.