My body is not your refuge
ONE.
I know you are cauterizing my heart,
Fate is forfeited, the wounds are pristine,
The blood spilt over the raw flesh,
Glints like a ruddy cherry fruit.
The last dusk did not cross the boundaries,
No message from my domicile.
Years of bottomless horizons,
Unscented flowers,
Paling winters
are building a bridge between
The puerile heart and mystic mind.
The bridges have to be burnt,
My body is not your refuge,
Listen to this palpable heart,
I only want to go home!
TWO.
A sip of light from the Sun’s roseate,
The catalysts run through the nerves,
Oh good lord, lifeblood!
The body, pale yellow and red,
Like a rusty rug on which the bugs thrive. Water-soak my heart,
The dirt germinates.
They called me a noisette!
Put some spring water on my tongue,
The wight is hiding behind the skeletal cage,
Do not make it a corpse for
It is screaming to be unfettered and
Enter the open fields to
Take a sip of light from the sun’s roseate.
Oh good lord, lifeblood!
The mind is a cavern,
Gallons of chemicals are crawling inside,
You nurture your grey matter with love,
And not the grey, burnt, caustic soot of
Hate, agony, apathy and pip.
The blue devils are summoned,
The Mephistopheles is here, run!
Macabre procession of starving skeletons,
The vacuity, the anguish, the whirl of tears.
Now, you may sing the “Monody”!
THREE.
The rage is trapped in the bubbles of a tongue twister,
These glossy tears stem from your trauma,
Your eyes are a scuttle,
A giant circular ocean current floats on your body’s surface.
Tell me, the cause of the gyre,
The wind, the cracked heart or the briny people,
The hot and cold palpations.
You little bluestocking, break free!