when u write, u may feel u r putting urself into the paper, that the fluid running thru the pen is ur blood. u donno how it wud be for the person reading.

It takes time and pain for me
to disappear myself
and then appear before you
Then i don’t know
how i would come out
befor your eyes
Afraid i would show myself
as a bird or a butterfly
or a tree or an ant
or just green
or as a blade of grass
with whom i usually identify myself
And then how would i get your attention?
Pecking your nose with my beaks
displaying my colors to you
dropping a fruit for you
climbing your arms,
getting inside your brassiere
and biting on your breasts
being just green
being soft to your feet
And if you would notice me
and kiss me
and hug me
I’ll be ever with you
as a bird, as a butterfly
as an ant, as a tree
as green grass
I’ll be ever with you
for you—
disappearing I am, disappearing
legs gone, head gone
hands alone writing this story

santathana hostel, cusat, 02.05.01

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