Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll
laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
MIDI saxophones and an ex-girlfriend on the telephone
directing me to find my home, to rebuild the comb, to banish the bartender and the Reverend ******.

Alamo idiot stand and a neon Jesus
waving newcomers into the whitewashed port town known as "Cuba North".
At the Caged Gorilla, Linda, the waitress,
laughs through yellowed teeth, while my bloodshot eyes crawl up her red gums.
Binge'd and my brain keeps parallel with the ceiling fan
while a plain clothes cop tries to give me the reprimand for nostalgic mischiefs.
Handcuffed and looking for that old fiend, Freedom,
while Miranda spews on the back of my skull, slides down my shoulders, dots the cement.
Out the door and tourists with cameras looking for evil behind my irises,
but I can assure my handshakes feel the same, I'm front pew tame, and I blend with the parade.

Deny it; it makes no difference:
the American government pitches its deceitful realtor-reality to the world:
flaunting our flag as the banner of the free, but avoiding
our faults and failures as a country.
“Oh yes! We’re rollin’ in the (borrowed) bucks!
We’re a proud superpower capable of chaos; calamity!”
Well, kudos on your catastrophes: we all know it’s a hollow show.

See, we’re slaves to China, bound by China’s chains
to billions of dollars, the deficit deepening daily.
And who’s to blame?
“Not I!” says the Democrat.
“Not I!” says the Republican.
“Not I” say I, but we
weaved our financial woes together.
It’s not stupidity; if we could see into the future, we’d be shakin’ our money makers.
But have you seen the current fiscal guillotine
whose blade looms low and approaching our throats?
Oh, irony of ironies: the American government isn’t free.
Oh mah gee.
Freak out!
Calm down...
Forbes informs me that federal spending spurs private sector growth.
But when fifty-four thousand buckaroos from you
and you
and you
and me too is just enough
to cover Congress’ **** until the dimwits there do another... (insert something dumb),
it’s time to draw the line.

And time to erase lines previously drawn:
George Washington warned us once before:
“...the common and continual mischiefs of [political] parties are sufficient to make it the... duty of a wise people to discourage... it.”
Yet here we are: the media’s reporting majority wars
that serve only to sail us further offshore from Pristine America
and a time when things really seemed to matter, especially when they did.
Deny it; it doesn’t matter; it doesn’t change
our chances of escaping another Cuban
Missile
Crisis. If we waged World
                               War
                                            Three, what would we
                                                       do?
                                                               One
thing: debate, procrastinate, our fate
a fragile plaything fought over
by infantile, full-grown fanatics who never quite phased out of high school debate.
They never learned to lose, and so they play the inane blame game,
I say quite frankly: gurl. Dat cray-cray.

Dear Democracy, when will my words hold water?
When will the weight of a rainbow OREO or a
monogamous monotone monotheistic chicken sandwich
on my guilty conscience be lifted?
Must I muster a hungry lackluster life in the land of opportunity
to oppose tyranny
and uphold justice? I turned eighteen last December,
but for as long as I can remember
I’ve been voting with the dollar bill, my ballot
traveling through the bloodstream, fueling the body of big business, who fuel the daring charities, who fuel their bills in congress.

Democracy, do you know me?

For this faux-democratic nation where the population waits for the government to lay itself to waste, the Founding Fathers sob, disgraced.
                                                       Oh, God Bless America!
the nation where when faced with any
[man, woman, child, intersex, genderqueer, etc.] who dares defile the status quo,
accept the stigma like a crown of thorns, on top of all the scorn
                                                                    We The People
donate millions to “charities” who dare to speak for
Jesus,
the meek and mild. John chapter eight, verses one through eight:
he drew a
fine line in the
sand, man:
it’s where your rights end and mine begin. Irony, irony: they are as good as
mine.
For this faux-democratic nation where the population waits for the government to lay itself to waste, the Founding Fathers sob, disgraced.

Gitano yawned,
stretching out under
the shrine of Öli.

Here he plotted
and hid a mouthful
of secrets; and the Lord
watched over him
as he slept.

He plotted,
for coyote wisdom
is disguised by folly
and cunning
and guile.

All about, the vermilion
stain of Mars. The coyote
chuckled mischievously,
dreaming at the feet
of the Master and Judge.

Above,
a ziggurat raised
to the Goddess.

Two great black eagles
circled in a sky
of dry roses and lilacs.

La Santisima Muerte
stood at a distance,
yet bore Gitano
in Her *****.

His mischiefs were scribed
upon a cartouche
to amuse gods
and teach men;

Yet men are not
so easily taught
as gods are amused;

For men have not yet
learned to believe
what makes them laugh.

And so Gitano sleeps,
and talks while he sleeps;
wherefore the Ways
of mischief and trickery
were laid bare.

The secret is to teach
at the expense
of innocence.

Certain illusions persist;
they must be shattered,
but their thrall
can only be broken
by design.

Whether bitterness
takes root in the wake
of the shattering
is not Gitano's concern.

Because sometimes
realization can only come
through being made a fool,
revealed to ourselves
as absurd.

Angry at our own foolishness,
we blame the one
who denudes it.
The coyote, too, is a Fool.

A Fool can learn,
shaping destiny
by taking responsibility.
Through death a Fool
becomes wise,
seeing the joke.

The burden of karma
is left to those
who cannot laugh.

Man grits his teeth,
his brow furrowed.
He despairs.

Gitano chuckles,
unperturbed.

The first time I saw you
You have eyes that were so innocent,
Hair that perfectly frames your face,
And a smile gives of an aura
Endlessly making me linger
To your being.

However i doubted that
Not all people can be like you
So a rainy day came
And so does your frown
I observed you passively
Hoping something changes

You were so busy on things
With your hand flicking along
I assumed you were consumed
By the world and its people
I approached to help you and asked
"Are you okay?"
You gave a gesture
Seemingly making it so

Confused by these thoughts
I got tangled unknowingly
You were putting me under
Like i was in a case of plunder
With the whys and hows coming
How can i be so stupid to realize.

All this time i fell
By the time i laid
My desperate eyes on you
Thinking it was me all along
Fooling myself that
You needed help
From all these whelp

In the end of all
It was me who needed it
A help from you
From the world itself
By all the traits you have
To keep me going,
Running,
Living,
Breathing and
Hoping.

That someone like you would save someone like me
In a world that is full of mischiefs and illusions

Death is the disintegration of the body,
Life is the death of the mind.
Evaporating from shackles
The jester is here on time.
Mischiefs taken from the book.
You do it so well
That only time will tell.
Another age old being
Left to be forgotten.
You forgot again jester
And the sand timer
Has been smashed.
Take the clocks hand
Jester
It's the only applause you'll get.
Breathe them in jester
They'll never be whole
Within themselves.
Take a chance jester.
You're already dead

The devotion that you had in your heart for me
the tune that you had on your lips for me
the surrender of your heart was a lie!
all your tears were a lie!
however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you

Silvery, sweet, streams of talk
those dreamlike nights of sweet slumber
the way your eyes hypnotized was a lie!
all those dreams were a lie!
however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you

The kiss that our lips shared
your love filled embraces
the innocence of your fair face was a lie!
all those promises were a lie!
however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you

You were the budding flower of spring
that bloomed in intoxicating laughter
but your smiles were a lie!
all those scenes were a lie!
however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you

Those promises in the Ganges of love
how you adorned yourself with my name
your bedecking was a lie!
all your those small signs, were a lie!
however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you

When all your mischiefs were a lie
when your innocence was a lie
when your laughter, your smiles, were lies
why were all our quarrels - truth?
however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you

तुम्हारे मन मे जो अनुराग था मेरा,
तुम्हारे अधरों पे जो राग था मेरा,
वो समर्पण तेरे अंतर का झुठा,
थे झुठे अश्रु तुम्हारे ।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2

सुमधुर सरस सलील वो बातें,
मीठे निदों की स्वपनिल वो रातें,
सम्मोहन तेरे नौनों का झुठा,
थे झुठे वो ख्वाब सारे।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2

अधरों से अधरों का चुंबन,
प्रेमवस तेरा अालींगन,
धवल चेहरे की मासुमीयत झुठी,
थे झुठे वो वादे प्यारे।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2

तुम बसंत की कुशुम कली थीं,
हो मदमस्त हँस के खिली थीं,
पर तेरी वो मुस्कान झुठी,
थे झुठे तेरे नजारे ।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2

कशम जो प्रेम गंगा में लिया था,
मेरे नाम का जो श्रृंगार किया था,
तेरा वो संवरना था झुठा,
थे झुठे तेरे इशारे ।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2

जब थी झुठी शैतानीयाँ तेरी,
जब झुठी थी नादानीयाँ तेरी,
जब झुठा हुआ हँसना मुस्कुराना,
तो सच्चे क्यों हुए झगडे सारे ।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2

The translation is given by karisma ji
Thanks sis for it

Her friends made an accord
To bring her cariad
They met
They embraced
with blissful laughter
The day carried on
They went to the portal's entrance
Outside
He was preoccupied
By the device he held
Outside
She met another compatriots
Who played their mischiefs
With slippery liquids
They caused chaos
And an accident happened
With a child
Who fell
The girl came to rescue
And held the kid until
The pain was gone
And
She looked at her cariad
Waiting for something
Something or someone
She looked at her
Parents
And they urged her
To enter the amphitheater
With her platonic frater
So she went
And waited outside
She faced the fragile glass
Facing her own reflection
Tucked her hair
Behind her ear
And called her cariad to go with her
In a place she felt home
And then
Through the looking glass
Waiting for him
She saw
The way he waved
Frantically
Implicating
An urgent
Goodbye
So she went outside
And saw
Her cariad
With a fair woman
She knew
She was the Eros
While she, the frater
Platonic, should be Platonic
But what's with that look?
A look of regret
A look of pity
A look of apology
On her cariad's face
As she approached and saw them
Her heart heavy
Falling in the pitch blackness
Of Oblivion
Where self deprecating
Self loathing
Self pitying
Dwell
So she closed the distance
Greeted the fair woman
Who bothered only with a side glance
At her
And so they went
And she
With them
In a brief walk
Before they went away
Until
They parted ways
Again
With her
Cariad

In a village overlooking the sea,
so beautiful and so serene,
with fine cottages and finer folk,
there is,as in any other place,
A Memorial Park housing the dead and beloved.

I stand in a corner of the Yard,
upon my plinth frozen forever.
I,the stony likeness of a fairy
long gone and forgotten;
A cold guardian of the cold beds.

Like to a fair girl with sweet smile I am
tender hands clasped gently,
resting against my flowing silver dress.
A blue bow adorns my tresses,
A pair of graceful wings,my frame.

Many a person I saw buried here
and many a eulogy I've heard.
Many regrets and tears.
Cries of loneliness and fear.
Year after year after year.

At my feet lie two graves,
Of a man and of his wife.
Young they departed life,
Parted from their darling child,
giving her their memories to live by.

The girl used to sit on the turf
beside their tombs
gazing out over the sea at the sunset,
Me keeping her company
and the Wind wiping her tears.

Every day of every season
she used to come and see them.
To sit by them and talk to them.
To tell them everything in her life.
And I used to listen to her.

I listened to her speak of her friends.
Of their many mischiefs
and adventures in the village,
of their jokes and laughs.
And I used to laugh with her.

She spoke to them of her being alone
amidst all these joys.
Of her fears and toils.
Her wish to have them both back.
And I used to pity her.

New graves were dug,
New tenants came,
And new tombs were built.
Still the girl came
Never missing a day.

She talked to me,the only thing there
with a semblance of life.
"Oh,you are so beautiful!"
she used to tell me,
And I wanted to tell her the same.

"If only I'd wings like yours",she said,
"I would fly over the fields
gliding lightly over the grass.
I would fly above the trees,
chasing the happy birds.

I'd race the dolphins in the sea,
Skim over the fluffy clouds in the sky,
Touch the stars in the night
And reach my parents in the Light.
And I would be free."

The cemetery knew no familiar voice but hers.
The path,no familiar step but hers.
She used to walk among the tombs,
laying wreaths upon those forgotten
And praying for those who forgot them.

She used to say to me,
"How sad it is for them
Who are forgotten and have
None to remember them
And nothing to be remembered by!"

Then came a day when I didn't see her.
And another day went by.
Now I see a grave being dug
By the side of her parents' and I knew,
That she has gotten her wings at last.

I see them carrying her hither,
No faithful friend to weep for her.
No heart breaking to see her
go in her death to where
she used to be in life.

If only I had tears,
I would have shed them.
Shed them for all her pain.
For all the fears she went through.
For all the loneliness she had to endure.

If only my heart weren't frozen,
I would have wanted it to beat,
To feel heavy with sorrow.
For her,I want to come to life,
If only to lament her death and freeze again.

They fill her grave with dirt.
They build a tomb on it and leave.
No wreaths wasted upon it..
No wreaths will there be.
No familiar voice or step.

New graves are dug,
New tenants have come,
And new tombs are built.
Still I stand here over her's...
It is not sad,for I will remember her.

Would it **** if you agreed?
That we’re no more than just greed
Would it raise up the stake; if
you had fessed up all your mistakes ?
I shall love you not!
For everything you are not
But given that we have shared
The sorrows and mischiefs we beard
I learned that you are a riddle
Waiting for someone to fiddle
Through the devious games you played
I went along, with no reason to fade
Perhaps it was not your game
You’re not the one to blame
Your words.. were they true?
The effects of them, do you have any clue?
Remember the interests we had?
Of Sophie and Howl, how sad.
It has come to this,
Where I want to hit you with my fist
Remember how you strived to impress
Should I start to repress than address?
Of how hollow your promises were
Pretend all you wish, that’s how I’d refer
Perhaps you considered it just a fling
To me we were not anything
Not through the things we told
At nights I felt so cold
For at least I state faithfully
That you were the one who embraced me fully.

As little Ben lay down to sleep,
sinking into his soft bed,
The night air brought with it
a sweet fragrance on it's wings
to lull him into sweet dreams.

His father coming to tuck him in,
Said Ben:"Daddy,why is it
that the sweet Night with
the pretty Moon and little Stars
does not last long?"

Replied his dad:"Because Ben,
then the Day would be sad.
And the Sun would pout.
And the Night only comes to help
the Nature prepare for Tomorrow"

Thinking about it,said Ben:
"But what if Day gets sick?
And the Sun takes a holiday?
What would happen then,
If Tomorrow never comes?"

Ponderously,said his dad:
"If Tomorrow comes,
there would be no end
to the Dark and his secrets,
No stopping Cold's mischiefs.

The Moon will walk away,
and Stars may be shrouded,
No more will there be Light
to show us the way
and drive away the fears.

No more will the Mist flee
but will snare us into her net,
to get us lost in her depths.
No end to the bad dreams,
No more warm rays of comfort.

No more Dew's pearls on leaves,
No more the sweet chirping
of the silly birds in the trees.
No Sun for the flowers to greet,
No Dawn to make them sing.

No more the frenzy of the bees,
No more the races of butterflies.
Nor the games of the rabbits.
No more prancing of the does.
Only the hooting of the owls.

Never again will the rain seem fiery,
Or the rivers golden.
No more rainbows in the sky.
No more the dancing of colours.
No beauty in the Nature to see.

No Joy to look forward to,
No Hope to wake up to,
Relinquishing hold on our dreams,
Desires and wishes unfulfilled,
We will slip into Death's slumber."

Realising Ben had fallen asleep,
his father got up from the bed,
turned off the light
and silently went to his room,
thinking all the way.

Unaware of the grave thoughts
his question aroused in his father,
Little Ben slept on,dreaming:
"If Tomorrow never comes,
There won't be no school no more."

In my life I’ve learned that it is possible to love two—three things at the same time with the same intensity, such as I love coffee as much as I love books as I love cigarettes in the morning.
That my vices and mischiefs are who I am, both the most beautiful and sad parts of me.

I’ve learned that just like people are happy they are sad, and just as people live they die.

That happiness and love are for everyone, but I’ve also learned that this world, and its horrors isn’t.

I’ve learned that society isn’t a norm, and that human absolutism is not a thing.

That you have to **** up to learn, as no one has ever fallen in love without being a little brave.
I’ve learned that depression ***** you left and right, that it’s a real illness and that taking antidepressants doesn’t make me any less of a person.

I’ve learned that embracing who you are is what makes you exquisite and endlessly fascinating.

That life is an absurd infinity for all this togetherness and otherness.

Alchemy beckons
I once saw him scribing pollen on bat's wings.
having long strolled the  flattened earth
to capture mischiefs wonder,
wading through patented spell books
he obsessed on Death Cap Mushrooms as a panacea.
Once he levitated a Friesian
for no greater nocturnal purpose
than to mock the knowing Moon.
I had long sensed it was in his power to grief
stranger's dreams
but his ensconce was that of an Artist
rather than the Master of  Misrule.

Your little eyes,
Little nose,
Little cheeks,
Little smile,
And, your adorable babbling,
Will forever be rewards of love...

Your little hands,
Little feet,
Little walk,
Little mischiefs,
And, your cheerful embrace,
Will forever be a boon of life.

I see a poor fellow
cleaning my office with sad downcast face
A miserable soul - with no hope in his eyes.
Beside him stood my idle students
some gossipping, some drooling
like sick hens
The cleaner doesn't exist for them
his world is far far away from
their high hopes:
good jobs, good money, family and friends.
They don't care.

What am I supposed to teach them?
Do I show them the way
of all the tyrants and mischiefs
of the world who are bent on
piecing up the ***** among themselves
letting go of their self-respect and dignity
or do I preach something different
A less trodden way of
measure, struggle and equality

Are they ready for it
Will they listen to it
Is it worth the it?

Bummed for the joys
Of sunshine and paradise
Lost in the grid
On your visions I bleed

I can't take you places
Being just a rock n' roll kid
I defer to your sight
Flights and mischiefs

The smoke that fills my lungs
Are full of decisions
Withered with thoughts
Failed attempts and secret missions

I am a fool for one
My footprints is your basis
I feel the sun on my spine
I can't take you places

Sored heart bruised arms
Shimmering mind but still a loser
You are the world
And I can't take you places

She descends down the ruined stairs
of the moon, and into a lake she vanishes,
increasing its beauty and sowing in love.

........so full with charm, with sensuality,
and with an appealing glitter of face
which arouses the soul.

Her gravity causes the trees to dance,
the water tides to swirl and the clouds,
to loosen their ambrosia on the earth.

She seduces the surroundings with her
coyness, making the creator blush,
and gaze with amusement at what He
had created.

Everyday, everytime she trespasses the
property of my soul....And slowly
with the passage of time, her mischiefs
stole something from me
~ something unseen.

SANDOVAL
            At home, they say Death takes a female form,
            And in her cave a billion candles burn
            Which mark the dwindling measure of our lives-
            Short stubs for the infirm, fresh spires for babes.
            When our own taper sputters at the base,
            This fickle life winks out.

CORTÉS                                            What said he next?

AGUILAR
            “You see our signal fire on the butte,
            Whose dark clouds broadcast swift alarms for war.
            If our old friends push off with crowded sails
            Before those flames to embers smolder low,
            Then shall they safely coast from Mayaland,
            And may God blunt what mischiefs are to come.
            But, if they loiter when this fire is cold,
            We’ll ***** their lingering lives, for at that time
            Shall I raise up my droves of rabid braves
            To course this quarry like the hounds of hell.”

CORTÉS
            I wish I’d that false truant in my hands,
            For it will never do to leave him here.

OLMEDO
            Those of the breed to grapple their own hearts
            Must own that something in their soul is stirred
            In answer to the awful frankness of these howls,
            And if, by our own shared humanity,
            We may uplift them to civility,
            So might they pull our most self-searching down,
            To dance, to stamp and rage. We, to resist,
            Must be as much a man as they. If not,
            Rebarbarism claims her wayward natures,
            And our prim, mincing minuets may yet
            Yield to innate impulse: leaps, bones and blood.

CORTÉS
            Clear out! Our foe’s friend orders we embark,
            With sails puffed by this sometime Spaniard’s threats.
            These titles- “Captain,” “Chief”- these are but breath,
            Yet- backed with tooth- are words which utter death.
            Speed North! At merrier campfires will we rest.                  *All exit.

we claw through brittle days
       upon calloused hands
hearts chiseled into Celtic swords
                                  
                                       yet we hold on-

hunkering down through
       blistering nights,
trudging beneath
               the frosted moon,        
         awakening at mottled dawn, sleep deprived,
       riddled with a profound ache
for distant fairy stories
              
we will not surrender
      to shrieking banshees,
           to long-stemmed loneliness,
  to prevailing hunger,
                  to our minds' mischiefs fretting
        as shadows in    
                   unforgiving hours

      instead we galvanize as druids,
              extracting golden amber
from faraway dreams
        depositing them as seeds stowed
beneath winter's cloak-    
   lore keepers
                       of pandemic secrets

                                    -until spring
    thaws the frozen river beds
              of our poetic fingers          
    pollinating speech
                     while we spawn
into garnet roses
(blood soaked with piecing stems)

    a reawakening of voracious beauty,
the roaring Aslan,
             unmuzzled prophesier
                                   of breaking dawn

I just want to relive those days again,
When I used to smile genuinely,
Instead of giving a fake tight lipped one.
I want to be the child again,
Who used to get happy,
As if given his favorite cotton candy;
I want to be the mischievous one again,
Who used to give a cheeky- smile & puppy eyes,
On being caught for the little mischiefs';

I want to live my utopia,
Where every thing is just so perfect;
Where Cinderellas' have a happily ever after,
Where a knight in shining armor,
Is waiting for his damsel,
Where Augustus and Hazel become a single soul,
Where partings are never too longing.

I miss my old self,
Who used to believe fairy godmothers are real,
And one day she would meet the seven little dwarfs,
Who would be ready to protect her.

I miss the one little kiddo:
Who would instantly look up at a shooting star,
As if wishing for someone to wake her up,
And take her covertly to meet Olaf,
The one whose banter was enjoyed,
The one whose laugh was contagious.

But now it feels like,
It's all in the past...

Every morning he'd come and sit beside me,
A beautiful little thing,
Dancing and singing,
His small lips glued to a flute,
Lost,
As if in admiration of life itself.

Sometimes he'd talk to me
In a language I couldn't comprehend,
And I'd litsen -
I'd litsen to his eyes,
Trying to get a glimpse of the universe that lay beyond childish mischiefs,
Of a power too vast to be trapped within mother's ropes.

I watched him leave,
His grief shadowed by purpose,
A smile shrouding his conflicts.
Confusion, pain, longing,
He was prepared for love,
Attachment came without warning.
That evening, he sat beside me and cried.
Just like the child he was.

It was autumn when he left,
And the last of my leaf fell with him.

I've learnt to hone the vast darkness,
The dark fate thrashed into my hands,
Cursed to feel the crowded loneliness,
I've been forced to grow on barren lands.

The dark soul with which I'm cursed to live,
Its cause she gave my heart to the darkest devil
She gave it while it wasn't even hers to give ,
I guess behind that mask was hiding such an evil.

I've learnt to foster this darkness, turning it into hate, Full of fear, yet still clouded with a lust for revenge,
I'll slowly progress towards our dreadful fate ,
And remember this, my heart I will surely avenge.

I've learned never to trust anyone again,
For all they wear is just a resolute mask,
Not knowing behind which the pitiful coward lain,
Who'll do anything even the most resented task

Once so full of light, now trying to look for a way out,
Once so full of love, now finding a person to trust,
Although I'm quiet but trust me I want to shout,
I want to know why, why did our bond ever rust?

Pierced heart and broken bones,
The pain with which the soul moans,
The body's thought of being a stone,
Melted to ashes and left alone.

The hate and darkness that lurks in deep,
The faith all lost in an eyes blink,
The person she loved is now a creep,
My elegant body now bound to stink.

I guess I'll just retire from the worldly griefs ,
I'll just be patient as to what fate has in store,
I'll forgive your crimes and all your mischiefs,
I guess l really don't want to live anymore.

I’m so close
So close to call
To text
To drop all morals and patience
To let go and do the  unthinkable
To kiss and caresss the forbidden
To envoke in this mission
Of risk and passion
To feel flowers bloom and bees sting
To feel the flow of my imagery
Forget the past and present
To focus on the inside between my *******
To retract time and take a leap
A leap of youth and secrets
Little lamb don’t follow me
I’m going into the den of mischiefs