Ask my name, then lick it, for I am that straw

that calloused your finger. Wrote on it.

Burnt it with staid, venomous gold.

Now, I continue as an ancient pawn. Washed up and righted.

A simulation awaits completion. The answers are uncertain, but my reality is true.

Dare I plod? Dare I spin? That fear of slish-slashed wrists -

it burns as straw, you know. Lighting here. Lighting there. Smoking some.

Smoking more.

Wretched fire, do you know that you die too?

I warn you:

When the sun charges a crocodile,

and slides its eyes open, its mouth open, its belly rumbles, "Brrrrrmm."

Do you hear it? It's down, down, down from there.

- Rajnesh Domalpalli / 5th Aug 2015.