Come...

You remain blue like a blindfly
The River has returned to its
Untraced womb
A face, pale, beholding angst to its
forehead, he's sky
As is not water or shadow of an
anonymous tomb
Suspicion as the reverse side of
one same coin
A coin as a proposed pact, But fact
that is true as sand
The light far from riverside and an
empty hand
Poetry is its name
I call it by its name, I do
Call it again, waving my hand
Come light up loads of work;
Unfinished
Blind fly, and its return back home
Unleash your blues to achieve
An exile, a forest, conceived in pain
Come, light up this earth, unrest
Come, light up this womb, again.