How insane is that to say
I am going to commit suicide
just because I read the last poem of Maya?
and Im no longer nervous
like lovers inside the bus
And i have never sold myself to a god or church
I'm alone and busy finding myself alone
O Poets of my times!
Who told you
These mountains dont sing
They sing in pebbles, my kind of fables
of being loved and used and thrown
Clear you ears, Poets!
they are filled with voices of fearness.
Let me mourn for a while
The cat has stopped drinking my milk
The dog has gone mad and never gonna bark at me
Let me mourn till the morning comes
and welcome me to my bed
Long ago a mosquito kissed at my eyes
whispering “im taking away your sleep from your eyes”
since then i have been awake and hungry
and every where i look around
I see unhappy people
some are aiming through a broken lens of telescope
some are listening to humanity through the broken stethoscopes
Unhappy people, they make me unhappy
Unhappy Artists, they make me grow my moustache
Unhappy singers, they make me sick
Unhappy lovers, They make me see filling forms