This is the world, we kept at bay

for another moonlight, for another day

in the strange planet, footsteps passing

in the stirred tune, a jargon of unsaid

words in the bottled street, we keep

running into each other in the rolling

skating rink.

Mist growls, howl over the cloudy street

In the clamps and crumbles of hope,

We tune into dance, with the rhythm

flowing in the ebbs and tides, we ride

in the luxury pain, so when the silence

stretched out, we didn't part from each

other.

Memories like flair of horns, move on

with the buzzing sound, but when you're

at the rolling stone, you can only spin

around the ice ground, until the ground

shakes up.

So, we juggle between ragged mountain

to catch our rasped breath, where tour

of our delicious burdens, sacked up

in the shoulder, thrumming against

the strings of our lives.

I don't know when the waves aired up

between the earth storm, the ground

gives out in the ripping moan, this time

I speed up before you can catch up,

After all, this is a race before one falls off.

The night twisted in the atomic storm,

I'm stuck again spinning around.

— 13th September, 2024.