Schizophrenia
Her 'Verses on Schizophrenia' was written
while both of us were immersed in Gauguin's
yellow ocher smudging the eves in Tahiti
on a bankrupted canvas throbbing to suck pigments
each stroke ripping the foils of rustic mystery
unfolded fathoms of emotions undeciphered in her skies
eclipsing the tulips of reason,erosioned roots underneath
her gaze was thrust on an ivy stretching hands
towards quivering wind perplexed to hide somewhere
paraphrased each pulse in to the prose of dead tissues
Her 'Verse on Schizophrenia' lies on the table
A meteor crosses through the heart of a syllable
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