Cricket Dreams

A lottery would be A little scratch pad that rustles something inside And that old man with the ticket Was like a school yard kid on a piece of turf Playing cricket. And that kid too had a lottery In his palm. A little bat that would unlock a little treasure On a bare patch…

Royalty

The past unfurls and the asphalt paths Seem like scarelet Turkish carpets I guess the peasant I see every day on the mirror Forgot my blood lines, my royalty Of a clement past, I cease to remember And the horror that I can’t seem to forget Fate is not growing wings inside a cocoon It…