A lamplit page
that smells your body.
I still remember the
cajoling maneuver to give
me a spin.
Oysters. They were crawling
to eject the pearls. And
spiders weaving a net
to trap my thoughts. A
fly lands in the labyrinth.
War of attrition. A tremor
shakes the pillars. Moments
of disintegration. The fragments
throw the footprints in
your hands.
You cannot write your
name on your book.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem