to fear a walk into those beautiful familiar woods
to snatch away from the faint smell of those tuberoses growing wild
circling the boundaries of the known,
the sun beats down.
the feet turn around
and walk free
from unconditional love
a series of images I see when I close my eyes - writing them down for the first time This one's the protesting dead ones. " It's a high metal gate that is shut. there is a guard on the inside of it and an angry mob on the outside. The mob is made of dead people. they have no eyes and their flesh - white, almost non-existent. They are dressed in white dhotis and banians and have turbans wrapped around their heads. A few of them carry things in their hands, could be sticks. They are screaming, they want to get through to the other side of the gate."
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