People are fueling rockets nowadays.
They are chasing ghosts of Mars,
yet my villagers have only a nominal hospital and no good doctors.
I too dream about the exotic grasslands of alien stars
though there is no school for my autistic brothers.
Spaceships hold a fascination for me,
but I also have the fear of atomic annihilation.
I also suffer from racist abomination.
Wings of a butterfly are always fascinating to me
though my feet are deeply rooted in the mire of an infected shore,
and a polluted sea lies before me.

Holding you hand was like touching a cool star.
Kissing your lips was like kissing an unknown ocean.
But there was no love in you,
just blind submission to the animal aspiration.
There was a heart inside the beast
which you choose not to notice.
I am afraid I didn't want to touch a heartless star.
I didn't want to bathe in a blind ocean.
Now I want to cut my hand
so that I cannot touch anything again.
And I want to burn my brain.

Plucking out my eyes I thought I would send them to you.
You must not think of my blindness
because after seeing you I can see nothing anymore.
You hijacked my mind
and the skeleton of my body hangs on the branches of
an ancient shadow tree.
After watching you walking on a lonely road,
I think I am no more.
My soul has gone mad
And there is no ecstasy.
I declare an existential bankruptcy.

Alam Sayed

My dormant dreams remained in the primordial soup.
As an amoeba I dreamt about you eons ago.
In the sacred hollow of my mind lives your shadow.
Scrawny leaves of memory in the gutter of my brain
remain fossilized.
I waited for you in the Precambrian mud.
I roamed in the puzzling field of Cambrian jungle.
I dreamt about you being sheltered inside the body of a dinosaur;
Among acid rains my dreams were burned.
I searched for you amid the cry of stars.
My dreams were washed away during Noah's flood.
I wept for you near the stones of pyramids.
I reluctantly cut the throats of my blood brothers
in the Colosseum of Rome,
and fought the ****** battles with Spartacus;
and I saw our blood bloom as red flowers
in the reddened field of Capua.

I didn’t want to be a witch hunter
in the muddy medieval jungles,
and I didn’t want to be a gladiator of modern times.
I didn’t want to be a vampire of corporate age
******* the blood of my postmodern friends.
Perhaps, you will never be born in the craters of
ever hungry tyrants.
And, perhaps, in the world of fanatics and *******
you should never be born.