Hanged on the window’s curtains
The day was hardly breathing
Her body was lying there long
Like a symptom to death

Bored stars
Like prisoners captured in the cage
Of some unhappy constellations
They were doing reverences to the moon
Blinking

I
Was wasting my sights
Broken
Savage growing up
From my purple palms
My wings seemed to be irises
Un-rooted prematurely
And raped
On the ruins the sunset
Banished seraphs

Hey you
You, the soul maker
You dreamed of me being bird
Wounded
You crawled me under
The sky’s eyelids
Bait for the flying