It was
a killing line.
Walking on razor wire,
when toes would not leave the sky
and heels will not touch the ground.
Myths and legends
were becoming a witchcraft.
Are you ready to eschew the classical script
and write a new fable, about
a life size robot,
who will speak for millions
and put his signature on the wall
of a dying moon for the sake of blue clouds?
The caldron is empty. Nobody was
throwing any baby in it.
Stay still.
The bold instincts will come back with vengeance.
