I enjoyed burning papers when i was young. The whole idea of matter transforming so nakedly drew me. However back then, it must have been the visual treat that followed. The fire army, marching through paper fields and churning ash. The battlefront was a cold yet steady flame. The cleaners were behind, like fire veins of the paper. I always hoped i would have more paper to burn.
One paper, two papers, three papers down/ the cold hearted fire king is gunning for his crown
Four papers, five papers, six papers charred/ mom tugs ear, paper burning is barred
The feeling of a burn is very liberating. You understand how small you are and what it would feel to be exposed to the universe. The raw feeling, the salt-pepper-y tingle, the merciless grunge, the aftershock. People always say they feel like they are burning up inside. I guess that is "mokhyo".
One frown, two frowns, three frowns thrown/ the puppet of the master has finally outgrown
Four frowns, five frowns, six frowns later/ the puppet lies limp, although it feels better
I saw an angel today. She was dressed in orange and white. Her wings spanned from the corner of my left eye to that of my right. She however could not fly. Her wings were clipped, she is a factory reject. I never knew they make angels out of factories. But she convinced me with her barcode and tag. All the people in the bus plucked feathers off her. I hesitated. But i finally got a souvenir.
One angel, two angels, three angels die/ stolen feathers glued together never lets you fly
Four angels, five angels, six angels weep/ get your hands off, those are mine to keep.....
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