The old Masters: how well they enjoyed
their kingly life with their worn out hands...
like a dog ready to bark as his master commands.
When someone else turns his back
watching the crow in the crystal blue water at the top
while a searing wind murmurs at the back.
Laughing as if no tomorrow in their mother’s nest
while swaying in rhythm with the requiem
whereas his right holding an over depreciated axe
and the other waving a paper stained with blood –
the blood of twenty nine stars
all hoping for a slot in the grandest night on March
as they are about to finish the battle of pens and rags.
Beyond the smile as you pass your highness paradise,
you will never see darkness in the light
unless you step back and watch from a distance
the smiling face of the revered academicians looks not Monalisa
but a face of a lion ready to devour
In just one blink of the star’s moon-like eyes
a weakling bird preparing for its flight.
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