Vague we are, we have made the choice
Of leaving the door ajar, a fat choice that
With the cold wind entering living room.
We intend to escape choices, ask questions
Leaving answers open, cold and nagging.
We are sucked into the eternity of a koan.
We sit cross-legged to hurl our questions
At the big question mindfully set in music
To a perfumed stick turning our smells up.
Our world will suitably end at the precipice
A civilization's ruins, a close-ended calendar.
All this while we are awaiting a headless man
To ring doorbell in the small hours of sound.
Posted at 05:49 pm by adukuri