I wipe it off with sand so that no one can
step on the words, so that the lungs hold
more air for a scented solace.
The sea won’t come to this place.
Here, people walk, shit and make love,
Here, natural laws and mischief take place every hour.
The girl who dreamt of a black sea,
now sitting on the shore, realized that it was
only carbon-blue, a sheet of paper.
Using a broken typewriter I am engraving words
inside my head, applying froth on my body.
Take me away, I know you will.
Standing on the seashore a camel is enjoying
this spectacle of fun.
Had it seen the oceanic desert?
