Poetry

The fall
was imminent
on the moment of complete truth.
I was talking of annihilation
standing on scaffolding of fear.

Walking on burning coals
was a sacred commitment,
a spiritual solidarity,
with lake salt –
to lift the spirit
of sagging trees.

Of freedom of body
in camps of violence.
Without sound, I wanted to see
the creation in nothing.

Anything was happening
under the bald sky.