He walked with pride as he always does;
Nobody dares to ask him where you go;
Even the lion can’t tell him away buzz;
He’s alone! He has neither a friend nor foe.

It’s He who knows the destination
To which this unyielding creature walks.
His eyes are sparkling with jubilation
As his echoing voice in the vacuum talks.

Today, there won’t be the daily tour;
Th’elephant is heading to the collective tomb
Where after being for long so poor
He will happily wait for his doom.

Among the decayed carcasses he sat;
There were only bones and ivory.
Decay devours the huge and the fat;
Yet, he calmly sat n’ didn’t worry.

Patiently, the elephant tried to breathe;
Angrily he hears his pumping heart.
Now and then, for the angel of death
He looks around. He is impatient to depart!

‘I didn’t know whether my life was long or short!
No matter; it was long and heinous.
This’s where I belong. This’s my resort:
The real sanctuary of the gracious.’

‘With no regrets, I am leaving.
Yes, I’m resolved to leave it all.
This is the time to stop my bleeding
Soul before in the mire I’d again fall.’

‘Huge and fearful wasn’t a privilege;
A mosquito would’ve made me suffer.
My sensitive skin I had to sacrilege
To protect by the stinky mud of the mire.’

‘In my tours, I was always hiding
From the merciless guns of the cruel hunters
Whose greed for my ivory is abiding.
Being big made of me an easy target.’

‘Welcome, my long waited for angel.
No, a second chance isn’t my desire.
I don’t accept’t. . . . Don’t that was a sample!
To the forest, I won’t return. Please, set the fire.

It has been a nice dream
The way the others have been;
Yet, it also ended with a scream;
It’s the same nightmare I’ve seen.

No rest, no hope, no future;
It’s fearful t’stick to a scheme of repetition
This would soon act as a torturer
That forces the soul to a hideous admonition.

An experience is no more than
A ******* obstinate absurdity
That forcefully obliges us to be its fan
And voluntarily overlook its ambiguity.

As it begins, it would close:
A historicisation of a repetitious monotony.
I will not cry for I’ve got nothing to lose;
I’m just reporting the anatomy.

The innocence in his eyes captured me;
It was something that I couldn’t ignore.
Everything urges me to flee
Before the hot flames make me soar.

Passing the experience is crazy
So is the case if left behind.
Don’t think that discarding it is easy
Because this is the thing that’s rare to find.

He launched an arrow from an expert’s bow
That surpassed its designed destination.
How sharp and quick, yet, so slow
To begin such a mutual infatuation.

Taking the wild ride is impossible!
Do you share me the opinion?
Thinking of it is horrible;
I know, I need another companion.

The history of Salomé and John the Baptist
Is one of the best, and yet, the dirtiest!
Every now and then, it undergoes resurrection
And in each time, Salomé seeks the hermit’s destruction.
Hers is a dance of deliberate temptation
That she mantles with airs of infatuation.
‘Salomé and the Baptist’ is a story of fear and awe,
If you don’t believe me, let’s go!
Here’s Salomé wickedly hooks the bait
In form of a light convincing debate.
‘I’m determined and will decoy
That innocent and shy boy.
‘My last dance will ever be the best
Which repercussions would rock the east and the west.’
‘His head will be soon on the silver tray;
In no time, the boy would be my prey.’
She sneaked to poor John’s cell
Willing to convert his peace to hell;
Not minding that he was praying to God.
‘It’ll comfort me to bathe in his blood.’
The end of the story is known to everyone
But wait! The new version isn’t yet done.
However, there would remain forever a question:
Has Salomé got her desired satisfaction?

This is the point from which I begin and end:
The cyclic pilgrimage to the holy shrine.
Good or bad, it is a process that I can’t defend;
I also have not the right terms to define.

Leaving or going, I’m invaded by the same feelings:
Prospecting the unknown and putting an end to the mirage .
Regularity makes the pilgrimages insignificant dealings;
Recurrence is an instrument for exacerbating the sabotage.

This time, however, I stopped for a while,
Is the holy shrine my real destination?
It’s both a sanctuary and exile
And, also, neither pain nor sensation.

Comparisons, confusion and concepts
Assault me before every visit.
Tire, tediousness and toughness
Urge me to accelerate making it.

Repeated patterns end at that shrine
On which step morality and eternity standstill.
It is a solemn spirit and a concubine;
Vague entity but a famous thrill.

From that visit, please, spare me;
I had enough! Release my soul!
Oh, you are afraid to see me free
And capable of evading the whirlpool.