Sirens
location: an artifical desert - as if god requires help to scorch the earth
My throat itches in this cold weather,
Meanwhile the lion grooms me with its coarse tongue
Haven’t I been baptised like this before?
In 2008: a passage, a fortune,
The doors! Such beautiful doors!
They promised me the leaves don’t fall here
Evergreen like plastic
Lighting up at night, static
Polaris calling to the sailors.
Prometheus, Prometheus
From the river mouth: a chorus
Mistaking conquest for progress
Peddling flames, shifting blame
Conveniently to the nature of man.
As years pass, the siren’s song no longer
Lures me into the murky water,
Mistaking the lion for a protector,
To drown like the treasures of my ancestors.