NICU

And the lucky god feels himself comfortable; inside, –

the incubator perspex. His master’s personal white altar.

Eyes tied and those impalpable balls. He was reanimated;

now quietly lies under magical spell of lights. And Blues.

A bleeding hydrocephalic tellurian synchronizing his breathe

with an artificial lung machine; uncuffed tube stuck within, –

he couldn’t cry since birth. Whole messy intestine

splayed in a makeshift silo. And those long silicon lines;

close to his innocent soul; the poor heart still beats, –

yet unable to stop constant cravings for a life; « Biutiful ».

More than Inarritu or Benigni ever dream. And thus

the most expensive white noise of our endless platitude 

finally reaches its ultimate cyborg spirituality; forever.

Beyond all fragile humane worships of an absent multitude!

Calcutta. 12.01.2019 (Revised)