The freak accident
of a paranormal mystic, begins
a telekinesis in the dark room
to internalize the chopped off
obsession of sex.
You will be needed as a
fugitive now, in the
muddle of passions. There was
a complete lull before the storm.
A pindrop silence.
An anxiety starts, of-
becoming nothing, in the comfort
zone. The roots look up
at the lunar month, to bail out
the loner, convicted of sedition.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem