Dents in the clock remind me,
grasp tightly for the future, shaking in the vestibule of love,
the secrets of Mumbai, guidance from Spirit, one becomes,
you remain with the blurring of copper wire,
soaking in repetitive territory, another loss depending on your victim hood.
Utopia and waters are scarce, immovable and unperturbed,
the world is ecstatic about nature’s dance,
it’s ceremonies are pure, execution is pure, lest the wrong path is met with joviality,
it is the test of a final destination, one where you will be cradled,
nurtured and loved; things that all humans need, want.
© Anna Rozwadowska 2020