One day a man would arrive at your doorstep
to tell you that nothing you know
is true. That there is nothing divine.
We never die, because we were never alive.
The man, you'd say, would be wearing black,
the color of ambiguity and secrecy.
But he but he wouldn't be.
Color is a creation of the mind, he'd tell you.
The man will say that the blind has been deprived
of nothing important.
That they are fortunate. They would never
say that he is wearing black.
When that moment arrives,
you would want the man crucified.
No comments:
Post a Comment