In an armchair at the hotel reception
I am practising my lines
outside there's a thunderstorm
the rain rattles each time
the doors open

Repeating sentences
in between, watching
the public theatre
of the beautiful outside
of the elderly couple

sipping a drink
and waiting impatiently for a taxi
talking about friends and acquaintances
in whom they recognize the inner sides
of the characters from the play

I type my poems in Microsoft Word,
Which capitalizes when I don’t want it to.
Microsoft capitalizes on its digital monopoly.
Monopoly is a board game about capitalism
that I played as a child with tokens and play money.
But I spend real money on Microsoft Word.
I don’t want capitalism to rule my world.
My world needs rules. Such as, the writer decides when to capitalize.
Capitalizing Word makes it a brand name.
A brand name is copyrighted, as are my poems.
But do  I own the copyright to my poems in Microsoft Word?
Word has it that if Monsanto seeds blow onto your farm,
the plants they become belong  to Monsanto.
Word.

I will go quietly,
when moon sleeps,
and stars play the chess.

I would defy
the death, but life
defeats me.

Message of the
love was disquieting.
I prepare the ancient
alphabets.

I will go on
diet of pain, perfectly
making me strong.

We live in ourselves
collecting the
nuggets of tears.

Spreading marigold
dust at the feet of uncovered
deity, I ask, was there
any home to go back?

Why did you walk
away from the tree-
of wisdom?

Why do we conceal
our wounds, talking
about metaphysics?

It was not what
I had wished to be original.
Life takes its pound
of flesh.

A question mark
will always follow you.