Incognito

Disguised
Like a song without unicorns,
Flying with a contingent wind,
Chained and crucified
Forced to crawl only on incandescent soils
Without any ascension prospects
Only derisory, explanatory itinerary stops
Each cursed with a pair of left wings
Blessed
Neither to bear the same name
nor breathe the same waves
ever again
Lost
Compromising one’s doubts
With dying rays by the side of a fast lane
Gambling the latest tears
Turning off all hearing and sight
Quitting the present to make room for the past:
No one to hold tight for a while,
No mirror to check your background,
No familiar fragrance to recognize,
Only desert powder and a sorrowful mask.

Censorship

To face the persistent paths,
The route echoes,
Reclaiming your steps, the confidence,
In the mist of a myriad fallings
Is to regain. Then seek. Then fortify.
The angership
Of the vowelless pages
Ignoring gold-rushes and rush-hours
above the same old deserts
Following
Nonnegotiable demarcations
Of feeling…

Just picture:
My own quarantine isle!
Wrapped in night sounds
And promise lists
Expecting isolation
To lock the unlockable keys.

If I was this hideous instant of loss
I’d wear a necessary mask
Of Paris-made gloss………..