My ultimate reply was
my silence. There was―
no need to ward off any
further questions.

It was time to take
a call of the ominous. Clouds
are dark and menacing. You
wanted the poverty of words to go.

But it enters again by back door,
standing along with you. The
great divide begins. The day
was on edge over sick patriarchy.

You will not get the fruits
nor seeds. Yet the cacti do not
need any propagation. Full
of spines, they are hardy.

A fake formula is being put
forward. Let there be a
collective suicide to save
the floundering world.

But I would not agree.