Poetry

You were at it again.
Ignoring the truth
of lies!

Embodiment suffers
when you break
the sacred threads of perception.

Dried up tears blemishes,
on the voluptuous cheeks of time―
speak another tale,
catching the fire.

In your smashed tree
of verbosity lived
my small poem like a spirit.

Animistic!
You will not write my name
on the sinless rocks before throwing them
in the sea.

And I will watch your face on each
fallen bract of colored bougainvillea.