I am my own death.
Uplift blackening acrid smoke.
People fall down.
Some did choke.
But not all.
I gave birth
To twin apostrophes
Then suddenly spoke.
I dreamt last night
That every living entity
So why is there
In some buildings
And some people
That deeply observable hole.
Paid for all this.
You can talk and share
All you want,
Blind and besotted,
But beyond a white cap
The next one is
To the workers ploughing out there,
To people in the chair,
To families burnt in enclave rings
Now living without prayers,
If I could lease my grieving lung
I’d undo despots draining done;
Absorb that cancerous, bloodied lot,
For fairness growing through the rot.
There’s no mausoleum or statue,
No temples in gold or bamboo
Which can’t be uprooted or toppled anew;
We’d be unstoppable, in a week or two.
I heard my soul cry from its cell,
A muffled sound, bottomless well,
Mishearing its touch as a distant bell,
I reached from my seat, and unseated fell.
Love flushed us out,
Inevitably, like leaves
Or blossom falling.