“It is just my imagination that flies,While she is wrapped up in her bedsheetslike a nest.”

“I fix the cramped, lined pageswith my curious stare. How do youcome to exist?”

“Where is my oasis? Too far fromhere for me to crawl with thesedead legs, refusing to co-operateHands and fingers clawing uselesslythrough the grains of sand...”

“We awake at dawn.To sink or swim.”

“Hold your venomDo you recognise the instinctin me, fellow scorpion?”

“If onlyyou could have witnessed howmuch I have changed: sit alonein a disused theatre and feel whatI have felt, see how the world hastransformed me, like the metamorphosisof a caterpillar.”

“We wrote our names in the sandYou crossed mine out: I can't getback to the way I was.”