I can see the birds rowing their wings against the stream,
but they are not going anywhere…they are rowing and they are getting vertically moored.
I wonder after all these years of oceanic mayhem why they are still here to be existentially immortal…
I am seeing all these; sitting inside a room of white walls and a smoke detector…
some curtains with unshaped flowers on them…
And a window which goes parallel with the running waves.
I am here for three days and still I haven’t touched the salted genius…
All I needed were some chilled ones…some smokes when I can see the smokes crumble,
and an outside which can be smelled and felt being inside a concrete cube.
There’s no difference between me and those poor winged fuckers…
We both have been spoiled with isolation and the legends of defeated pirates getting life out of a sprouted island.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Google.

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