Bare Tongue

It was
a killing line.
Walking on razor wire,
when toes would not leave the sky
and heels will not touch the ground.

Myths and legends
were becoming a witchcraft.
Are you ready to eschew the classical script
and write a new fable, about
a life size robot,

who will speak for millions
and put his signature on the wall
of a dying moon for the sake of blue clouds?
The caldron is empty. No body was
throwing any baby in it.