BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

Shackle under shackle, sleeping swords in the musked billows, like jinns in rusting bottles –a portent of the external accords that animate the cluttered stocks and their politics.

We walk towards antiquity, We drown in the blood of the Nile, We are pushed down a deepening well, here you shall find a door.

A cracked latch – a glimpse past a perpetual pool to a green within green, a honeyed chorus resonates, you shed a tear –a salted lagoon swimming within a vast sea –drop.

Head on the ground, hums in the air, prostrating buds blossom sweetened sounds.

Here, my soul unlocks –polishing, polishing my heart.