I’ve lost my self in the other’s fields,
Revering their flowers for decades and still.
Snoring genuinely- sleeping under their feet.
Feeding me from my field.
Teaching me how to harvest my land.
I first tought them how to flush their plants.
Praising their fluffy wings while cutting mine.
Following them in their diverged paths.
Until i lost my straight line.
Copyright so called poetry of Biba 2018