A piece of flesh is playing

with dust; the grandfather

clock is counting the busy time

A piece of flesh, flies and peels

All of them affable with worms

Let the sunrays destroy everything

A piece of flesh is enjoying air

And spreading odour; it has held

memoirs in hidden cells; in veins

‘Do you know any flowers?’ I love

only the lotus and hate the rest;

a piece of flesh hates to be buried

Wind’s blowing; worms on dine

It can still hear the sound

Ticktock

Ticktock