Naked Letter

Naked Letter


Today, tired of the birds
I renew myself in mirrors.

There’s a self-drawn sketch of rice on my forehead,
a small sorrow.
This sorrow is not you or me
it’s that unhappy desert of what we never say.
Today, tired of the birds
I cut my wings &
my voice no longer flies.

Today, a tiger devoured my wings,
an old disgruntled tiger
       —   you drank the blood of a body that is not mine,
that disappears like smoke,
that resembles the roar of the sea
who has not slept either.

You are real,
the rest is on me.

P.S.    Does my letter tremble in your hands?
          The pain was just too much to experience on my own.

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