SONG OF THE CANNIBAL PROPHET

You feel submerged
In the women’s womb
In death also, relatively

You feel alive on lonely streets
At friend’s funerals
On a cloudy day, once

Everyday newspapers bring fears
Of discoveries
And we become un-communicating
With the concubines and ourselves

Can you come to me naked
A stranger
And sing a song
For a man may be lost soon
As he never returns again
Would you like to write or we write together
Of nauseating dreams

It is me, none else and
Most probably I would like now religion
And black magic
To be eternal in my youthfulness days
Being a cannibal prophet, of sort

I am spared so much that
I am falling asleep
In this springs today
Of hay

I have never seen a town so pathetic
Crowning me in glories
I know
The earth spills in us forever
In sporadic wars and attritions
Affections?