The last few droplets of fire

            tumbled its way

      into my rumbling

red rivers

Swimming and scratching

the walls of my throat

lighting matches

and plundering

      my treasured library

with thundering roars.

Bitter drool

      revolted and

complained

            (tools of an inner war)

About the acidic

      dictatorship in my

empty stomach

Children around me still laugh

And my politician mouth

            cracked its unconvincing

            smile

No one can distinguish

laughter from sobs

                  anyway.