When I see a lad
drag his body into a heap of sand
and smear smiles & grins on his
face as he does that,
I wish I could palm his utopian universe
caress my skin with it
and watch it grow in me.
But, why do I have to envy
a universe that's ephemeral?
Perhaps, a ladened body always
thinks an ephemeral joy takes away
all the pangs.
The lad too will leave his
utopian universe behind too—
he'll grow to know blood isn't
just a metaphor for love alone in
his motherland
but for a national betrayal
when he sees his motherland's patriot
leaving a gory body behind
with a mouth full of rotten
national anthem & pledge.
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