Terracotta

I'm buying a ticket to China; to the country of past glory and civilization. I'm heading to the Terracotta museum for I'm sick ‘n tired of looking into human eyes. There I'll see clay eyes. Dusty at first sight, but talking of an ever shining past, of glory, of beauty, of people who had majesty. There I'll sit and play Bach on my iPod to read poetry. And to think how glorious it was to be a human.

pPl

Let them fight. Let them kill. Let them hit their planes into the buildings, let them lie, let them pretend .Let them read shit. Let them watch soap operas. Let them listen to crap. Let them run after their celebrities. Let them sink in tradition. Let them indulge in religion. Let them be soaked in corruption. Let them live their lives.

Sleep Walk

It starts so smoothly as if a butterfly is winging down the strings. With the first beat of the drums a light delicate feather sets out to fly and enters my brain through my ear. She likes this strange beautiful music and dances to its tune. The man's fingers move gently and delicately on the strings as the feather moves serenely in my head; right on my brain; tickling the aching parts. She has lost her way but she doesn't care; she likes to wander around in my maze because my temperament is giggling. Hey man, I feel better already.