In Bazaar

Where do I place you
O my boundless thirst―
you have made me cry again.

The haters
were many. Like myriad
thorns in flesh. Cannot stop the blood.
You smile.

In your beak. Carrying the
death― fire bird. Where you are going?
Past lake, past hills. The hunchback
stoops further, to get the award.

Who was the enemy of
body art? Birthmarks were becoming
nude. You want to exhibit
all the wounds of earth.

O god, your hairs are growing.

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In Bazaar