Soon, the black crenulated clouds
shall move on
and the sky shall boast of its peacock beauty,
the licking tongues of the gluttonous waves
burning into ashes of smoke.
The sun shall no more be a black apple,
the phoenix moon shall emerge from the black hole,
jasmines shall bloom from deserts.
Masks shall be discarded as banana peels,
the wind shall spread the fragrance of
ripples of laughter emanating as silver
With an oasis called hope,
tomorrow shall no longer be a mirage
but a milky dawn with a better life,
a better planet.