• qaynaat 22w


    99 atoms in me, are strong.
    So strong, they could crush skulls,
    with a whimsical flick
    of their mascara-ed eyelashes.

    But then,

    There's this 1 atom:
    this singular black sheep.
    She never developed
    a taste for breaking skulls.

    She says, she'd rather
    weave flowers in her hair,
    so she can have
    her own skull opened,
    at each wither of each season.


    She prays!

    In strange fashion,
    She stares,
    at the saw-toothed eyes of glass;
    of God.

    And manages to have
    both her sclera and iris
    shredded into strips
    of black and white paper storks.

    Blind as a bat,
    Bleeding like a lady part,
    She says,
    it gives her eyesight,
    a NewAge insight.

    God too encourages!
    God looks back.
    She lowers her head, into her hands,
    and greedily asks, for this and that.


    She breaks!

    In sudden fashion!
    She surrenders herself
    in the arms of mountains,
    and in their extreme embrace,
    into a dispersion of mists and vapors.



    These, my 99 atoms
    are so fond of her!
    So fond of her,
    they've crowned her Queen.

    And this, my 1 Queen Bee
    is so willful, so lawless;
    she's kissing one's foot,
    she's biting off one's head.


    And I'm amused!
    Amused, but tired,
    of this endless
    absence of government
    inside my mellowing body!