Something fades on this dying landscape
Is it a glow worm or bonfire?
Perhaps a soul or just the tip of a cigar
Each night someone burns to live
Each day someone always departs
Once more a day has come
Not Monday or Tuesday just a day
Leaving queries unanswered
Once more gone is the day
Like the half un-drunk glass of red tea on a tray
My soul was the sole witness
Of their incarnation into wild
No norms: No canon
Just the measureless chase of prey
Just the swaying leonine mane
Just the lick of nature on our face
And we the worm from eagle’s beak to chick’s mouth
Though the owl of Minerva no longer flies over this land
White dove turns red
This land harbour no regret
Wildly fresh..as ever..
I chose to be here forever...