Severely Even

Play starts written on a bad destiny intersection ○ Verses are preached on death’s lips at the end of the tunnel ○ Destruction’s paints shimmer with every brush stroke ○ Torn meats are put on display by unbelievably joyful despair ○ Whispers about their desire in every turn ○ Gusted revelation of dream on how ambiguous time is ○ While delirium asks what difference does mad and joy have? ○

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A Palm of Fate

Intersection has some truth.
Grace shimmering on a pole
of three colors who speaks
stop, go, be wary.

Bypass of humorous stories,
along with a woe percussion
sung in a scripture of fate
opened and closed.

Highway of written predestination
on a face of creation
and free will
on numb faces of gods.

Behind the veil, what do they serve.
Every story, debates, and dreams
about the sea and of knowledge
in every bank of ecstatic course
and anguish breeze.

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Offsprings

This story begins like
how any of Adam’s children's romances
begin: reluctance and delight smelted
because of how fake faces are
and how echt masks are

A fire broke with timid bark
warm burning conversation
with meat for walls and
longing on its’ six edges

No need to be apprehensive when
hiding desire within ensnared verses
how powerful every loneliness
eaten away by frail misery

Of course, every zest paid off with
lips embracing and taking away tongues
from another amongst kilted silhouette smiles
of Janus and Narcissus

Something is wasted afterward
drowning in routines and suits
hope already rises
but alas, lovers already haste

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Maat’s Spell

Iron and water course and thaw from gaped arms, gather on the tip of the middle fingers, yet they won’t stop dripping until the inside of the skull feels claustrophobic

And gone then a woman with the eye of Horus and ankh on her neck raises her arms already drenched in blood, then guide her to a lasting adventure among gardens

Of death and to Maat, she carries forgiveness against Anubis’ scale along with Charon, who asks for a piece of drachma for their service to bring across souls

Possession of Hades also the woman with ankh necklace who rides a pale horse by the end of the day wandering around reeds and Elysian flower beds while harvesting retribution from the living realm

Is a wit for the woman with Horus symbol makeup in her eyes, considering how serious death is to be joked about except for people who decided to patiently take care of hopes.

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To Speak of Dreams

I speak to creation verses within yearning places that surmount lines of arrogance and ignorance. Albeit it is truly self who couldn’t escape from bad verdicts in slumbers, “responsibility is the area of existence over which I exert a certain amount of control and influence.” While your son’s head is the ill cause of your endless end.

This story is harvested from a tale’s yard with two stanzas, secret and mystery, and two brothers locked by misery to bash one’s head to another because The Present is starving enough to chew meats but not crops.

“By longings who born from their womb,” you said dreams are solitary spaces yet better than glass jail for seventy years. When stories, secrets, and mysteries crumbled and civilization suffered from insomnia, “that is why the world was anxious for a whole century.” Because what is the use of hell without those who dream of the heavens?

While a dramaturgy is written, the poet is bound by a promise to play a comedy that tells dreams on summer nights, culminating in the story of kings. A common man is drenched by visions of a kingdom since his desire to be an emperor because the stall does not result in anything except famine and leprosy. Dream put hope in citizens’ heads so as the dead of The Emperor is being marched like the wise man he was.