My flaming spirit does not flicker in orange-
it burns indigo
and keeps on burning;
escaping damnation
I stop commandingly
the ripples of unbidden emotions
before they turn to tidal currents;
the ferocity tamed, the angst seems without a sting;
no hopes to bloom
my petals will stay folded and wrapped up
I was Simoni’s classic
but the bold tones of colors
with which he painted me all inside,
are faded now;
my finger wears the ring of Cleopatra no more,
I speak no Egyptian,
my enamelled primitiveness is laminated over
by the gloss of gaudy brands,
one day I transcended Time,
some day the waves will come and wash me up,
if found on the shore,
would someone bury me in the sanctified ground
of reverence with love?
Indigo Spirit!
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