Silent Penicillin
All the beauty of this satin, crushed in a capsule
When this heart ends- is it the end of love or of pride?
echoing agony
Some call it Bath, some say it is Paris
Architecture of the music
The one who steals language
Owes royalty to the bridges drawn
May they be of slavery or of death
Who built these large windows? Men?
You tell me they knew despite the draught, looking out is what we needed
Or do windows have more meanings – to these men who built the world
I dissolve in every poem I write
Leaving behind thousands of myself to mourn
Yet a million of me laugh after I have gone
Like gossipers of an era bygone
Twisting ends of a road, when the journey is over
One stacks destinations to give travel a meaning
Reaching and knowing the end way before the planning
Thus language performs to the beats of only one that matters
Aesthetics of medicine
