Dilemma Of Ink

The ostrich problem 
of catalepsy. 
You go into a cocooned 
opacity. 

I will wait, till you 
come out, ready to take a flight 
for an oath ceremony. 

The land suffers, 
the sky weeps. 

The shotguns would now decide 
the boundaries of speech. 

I will walk into the 
sea of heads, to find the sunken ship, 
to retrieve the faded road map. 

I have to face a new testament, 
how to remove this poverty 
of right words.