Fingers are hairy with no space,
The mind complains in cage of thoughts,
The bow make strings that sinews dirge
And dolor to renew our burden,
Many bent hours are stranded
In the universe that exhales reproach
On our palm as burnt offering.
Sweet dauntless is inside a box
That smokes fear from its onset.
Towards the river, we leap
As frogs from star to stars.
The paper is a virgin to my muse
Under the rain that washes away my pains.
Tell my brother the door is naked
As it were with the pit
Before jumping to arouse secrecy
In the arms of the dark world.
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