Poetry

Do you need a sanitizer for contaminated hands? 
They were busy in illustrating the ugly contours 
of life. 
Up and down you were out of joint, 
and your feet were not fastened to the ground. 
 
Untainted a shrill voice prepares to rise 
from the sullen men 
huddled on the floor, 
for the sad demise of a grand master. 
The green truth was nowhere to be seen. 
 
People are getting down for a feast 
to invoke peace for the departed soul. 
 
I am miserable, 
cannot blast the fake ceremony. 
Year after year the doomed city performs a ritual 
for the coronation of a new king. 
 
The sky is divided by domes, towers, minarets 
and tall turrets. 
cannot see the moon clearly at night 
 
I reject the old abstractions 
draw the ink from the blood 
and paint a tarantula.