The space is loaded with the stench of rotten memories of authority,
No one answers to the whispers of negotiations anymore,
The interrogations have faded away,
They cannot identity her.
The process of detachment lies silently in the dark well,
Listening to the echoes of the spinning threads of surrender.
While wombs circulate nonstop around milky oceans,
Children howl and she dances on perpetual melodies of solitude.
Temple bells fall asleep- wrapping and unwrapping the eternal cry,
Boundaries between celebration and mourning merge.
She roams like a ghost in her own void contemplating the inconsolable,
The obscure hums of the lost lullaby dissolve in to oblivion.