It was true.
Something had happened to me.
Killing my innocence―
I was dying daily.

Unflinchingly you
dragged me into the arena of tigers.

Like the obelisk, an
unfinished missile, you accept
the tender vows for
the undoing of an angel.

There was no poem today.
Only hollow words― floating
in a snaky ring.

Do you hear the call
of Mars? Its red hot flames had
singed our screens.
You cannot see afar now.

When I suffer unabated in wood
smoke, don't move away from me.