As soon as the soft backs to one’s shoulders heaven,
All the earth immensity be no more pleasant.
All the roads, all of a sudden, take the wrong turns,
All the destinations twist and head to more mourns.
All your years-by-years seeds hit by the unkind sun,
By the stagnant time windows like Judas, then runs
Into yor being echoes your Babelish spirit,
Into your guts, sighing:”All your sow’s no merit!”
Your soul with no shell, your mind with no eyes,
And you’re in the mid ground shroud in your eye.

Feet tremble, but what makes your grief to glow, to nest
To sense no soft shoulder your head does have to rest.

(C) S.C.P.BIBA (2026)