No, no I've supped full with horrors tonight;
Ghosts are all welcome to haunt.
Here in the backways of time's blind lanes
We tiptoe in fear among mudways of month
With feet that are unsure of zipcodes of self
In puppetry of shadows at night.
Wafting in breeze amidst crops that are dead
We dance our twists for vultures on air
That patiently will bide the shedding of our skin
As I moult between hours of midnight and dawn
Even as the circus is ground to a halt.
Believe I've tried all isms I'd found
That merely have burnt my saucers in store
And ashened my days full of gravels and grime
Which have built their causeways in heart.
Hence I'm fine with cartels of ghosts
And raise my toast to a montage of graves
With epitaphs of multicoloured pain.
Ground into powders in chronicles of drudge,
How else do I share my blessed bread and wine?
Nailed into shifts with fixity of time
I vanish into anonymous crowds in a rush
That gyrate in ferris-wheel of carnival of rust.