this is the trip of boredom.
it starts from the tip of my toe
as a ripple of a clear pond
...
it is just a game of words
i like to say it that way
when you ask me what this means
i candidly say it is nothing
...
that night i passed by the road
leading to the house where i live,
...
we do not invent feelings
feelings make us, that is how helpless we can be sometimes
when we let that be
but somehow when we feel too pushed
...
sometimes we feel
we are trees
birds roost on one of
our nights
...
contextually,
this happens, when the body
in extreme delights, after that night,
after the heat and fire,
...
numbness crawls like centipede
on the side of my legs
something hollow keeps it inside
an existential question forms itself
...