A disappeared friend
resurfaced.
A broken friend
an old friend…
something ought to be
the past.
The barrage is not strong enough,
the endurance getting murdered by the machismo,
a matter of no space or oblivion.
I am coming,
I am going all the way to the nausea,
there’s this city where howls stop with the resurrected wild instincts.
Complete chaos,
I have slept over the given time…
Some birds still believe in green trees,
the age will survive with our rage,
we have to bring saplings for the birds and war for our rage.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Alfred Stieglitz.