ancient January night. and the cold leopards of winter sleep on your skin. in the silence of your breath; among the thin, blue calls of neon lit raga…they sleep.
your voice casts a shadow in the warlord’s dream, who wakes up to the touch of the nuclear moon. jazz-licked whispers in his ears.
his mistress, a young maiden of twenty. she sleeps in peace tonight. delirious. her face, stained with the language of sex, pearls and emerald.
Enchantress! you are the preserver of the elixir of romance! Vile. Voracious. his spies have followed you for long. their footsteps still echo in the rooms of exorcism in every nightmare..
they have traced you…
from the cloistered streets of perverts
to the coffee beaches of painters
from the naked forests of forgiven hunters
to the deserts of secret refugees.
the one-eyed general, his insidious laughter now spreads like venom and smothers him, the last poet of the earth.
they find you now. hibernating in the ruins of the martyr’s last elegy.
strident sounds of evil in the cavities of your dream.
you awaken , looking for an answer
and you run…
you run through the fields of sorcery,
you run through the hamlets of fever
until you melt with the stars
seeking refuge in the clandestine visions of a snowchild…