Thoughts on Metamorphosis

Let the world disappear!
Let humanity perish!
From beginning to end,
from birth to death,
let it all end!

The symphony of thoughts,
like wallflowers in the symposium,
in the castle of grey stone,
like dread, grows. 

With last breath sigh away these thoughts.
Lamps in the clouds over dark valleys
give way to blinding white light.
No morning prayers! Men led astray into no man's land.
Not tired men but haunted men.
To not be, in this maze of mirrors, 
is all being lost in everything ever was. 
Orbiting meaninglessly, burning, blank, fractured,
night reigns. 

This scream suffocated within sleep,
like blank mirrors blooms into orchids.
Emptiness whispers and floods into barren lands,
all death is washed away. 

Those numbered days that are knowledge 
of human life, spent. 
Metamorphosis. 
This Earth, that in which your world grows,
ashes, smoke and poisonous weathered storms,
shattered homes. 
Invisible tears, thoughts,
like tidal waves crash on the rocks of standstill time. 
Belonging with all the past, useless is a fistful of wrath.

Smoke from cow dung cakes
frozen over silvery waters of the holy river
and fragrances from the cracking embers 
held, as rituals that burn the flesh
are sung and the boatman cuts through this pain
to write on the water lazily, those maps which 
stare, waiting for metamorphosis.
On high motorable roadways of the river,
rising to be morphed, getting tangled in empty spaces,
illuminated with the thoughts of time.

Telephone wires hang to death in the streets
built by those sentenced with capital punishment,
the feet of rickshaw pullers have blisters on them. 
Those wounds do not know when satellites will fall,
no one knows how far satellites reach, 
making static on the radio
like it was the hymn of human extinction.