Like a waterlogged inferno,
the sky bleeds its cinders
and ashen tears saturate the earth.

Galvanized, the sky
swallows me whole
and yet I remain stone.

My roots grow down
as I grow up
and reach for the heavens,
as if to wipe away the grey.

Surely behind that slate
lies aubergine,
tangerine,
turquoise.
That waterlogged inferno dried up,
a sizzling egg bathed in paprika.

But all that lies within
this stony grasp
is a generation of tears.
And I grow down
instead of growing up
as if to bury myself
away from the rain.

But the sky bleeds its acid embers
and ashen tears saturate the earth.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Mayan, in the year 764 AF.