Hangdog eyes embellish a black motorbike,
that while canoodling the pathway,
gauchely criss-crosses the bourgeois clique,
of this lifeless habitat.
It is made to halt, at an angry turn,
by an innocent-looking patrolman.
The tired eyes, scrutinize,
a virtuous license, a sinless badge.
And then look up.
The tattered badge,
ashamed and jealous,
of that patrolman, who doesn’t have a face
but only an abstruse structure,
veiled in a gloomy darkness.
A voyage, abandoned; thus,
for the saline is a blind truth.
And the open-eyed, sight of lostness,
remains the only vision of hopeless hope.
or a tiny trot;
Escapism, a delight.
Swim across by my shoulder,
Take a flight around my neck,
You could glide through my soul,
Gallop through all that I know of me,
And trot across what is unknown of us.
the shadow of the eclipse,
or the consummation of the meadow,
the departure of that intimate horizon;
Amidst all that, lies the existence,
known only to none.