The world is staring straight at raven’s eye,
so desperate to shelter from Aloofness,
it tries to spread its coldness. On the sly
the only its fatigue steps in and roofless

minds stay – in their bonnets they have a bee
to hive the humming sound and hearty honing.
The raven’s moaning is as used to be
the shrilling of the livid wind in cacophonies.

While stumbled over leaves the sun grows rime,
so its ubiquity is lost to girdle
the surge of tears, suffocate the time.
The raven’s eye reflects the world in twiddles.


28 March 2009