Parched Lips

Nothing to look forward
I return my gifts today.
Completely denuded I will spread out in emptiness.

I was nowhere in the circle of untruths,
the pain was slipping inside
and self-denial took its toll.

Nomad in exile
for the kiss of unknown
wandering in whispering streets.

There was no more remorse.
Saffron was the choice of pathos.
A collective suicide of pledges in the sun!

Parallel grief of desert and wind
offers the plundered toast
I drink to my parched lips.