Shoved aside for asking, for a mirror,
condemned to live outside his self.
Felt miserable. Abandoned the high-rises
and walked towards the ruins,
to talk to a friend. This man never listened.
Lied in sleep in deep down earth ; beyond
pain.
Peace, yes there was. But the inside
remains were in turmoil.Same guru that
he deserved. Passion to weep, cry, finding
absolute truth which never became visible.
Sometimes he will see the ghosts of past,
his own prophets.
A picture-frame broke. Now there was
a metaphor for unbeautiful, old father.
Xylem of the tall tree was blocked. No
sap was rising. One by one the branches
from the top were wilting. Rot was
setting in. The dark sky was aching for a
Venus.
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