You recite my old poems―
to understand the psyche
of human conflicts.
The long shadows won't leave
the fingerprints.

Between mind and soul
breathes a language
understood only by emotions.

I shiver when you
mime the real money. I go into
coma, to cross the
river of blues.

Future is pain.
Past was crime. In some god―
night I will write my swan song.

The life's many scripts
will remain unread
buried in the folds of sands.