Tonight when you deploy
the pillow to block the doors...

We are burning-
the boats...

Revealing id,
without ego, and hunger...

Why are you packing up for final journey?
I am not getting the signals from the stars...

Not a single word
wept, when sky was overcast...

Time
was moving without wheels...

Was busy
carving out the white clouds...

It was difficult to
rewrite one's own death...

Beings of erotica were
at the gates of heaven...

You fault me for
a silent poem...

Gifting myself a new
hurt, though ephemeral, do...

He wants to revert
back to mutism...