Human heart, rising and dipping,
with its myriad voices, like bees in pursuit
of colours, fragrances, dancing amongst
greenstalks, breathlessly seeking
new odours to thrive on despite
God’s patisserie of sufferings iced
in the pavlova dressings of desires;
the world, a shopping bowl of glitter,
of death’s aroma breaking out in
blood globules, in the name of AIDS,
values becoming antiques to admire from afar,
reality-a mishapen foetus living a vegetable life,
all that’s left of salad days is
repentance of days wasted
nights spent in excrescence of
morality lost and never regained, and
a disease no doctor can exfoliate.