Poetry

All day it rained. 
There was no destination. 
The futurist will incite 
the blue light in the itinerary. 
 
You can convert the eye 
into moon. The sky follows 
the assassin under- 
the cover. 
 
O Brother, I wanted to 
scream. Lines were not clear 
but the blood was same, 
in syntax and on knife. 
 
The potential, the genius, 
the capital. They were clubbed 
to win the game. The earth 
will go searching the fakir.