The length of the cigarette
burns
itself into fire,
the burning cigarette
slips through its butt
dying in an ashtray
as the left over -
empty sparkles of
silvery dust.
The earth wraps up like a package
sealed
inside its womb,
an embryo like a bone morrow
of a dinosaur that
burnt out centuries before.
Futurity delivers
the baby of an era
mottled in blood.
The trail of the dawn
leaked the dews to cleanse
the bloodied birth mark,
reveals it crystal clear
like the image of deca pixel
in which the poetry rhymes
the inner peace,
that’s in the womb of futurity
I yearned breathing the stone.
September 30th 2004
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem