What are these formations
that sprawled like squatters
on my skin?
They began like watery bubbles
About to burst at an instance of
the gentlest rubbing.
As days went by the tiny volcanoes
Could not keep at bay
The flame downstream.
Diaphanous lava began flowing
With the earth in pain writhing
Like being boiled without steam.
And the revolutions concluded
Volcans with black cloth shrouded
As if to mourn the death of victims.
Then torrents and nature paired
To peel off the black cloth
stuck to the rims.
The formations have gone away
But the terrain has changed
And landmarks created, big and small.
With the marks are moments
Of itchiness for remembering
A score of days, restless all in all.