Stop

Stop

She finally tears her
mouth trying

to talk. Red star-

fish fidgets since

its escape from

the slient deep.

Our heads are kites

flying among white

clouds. All we 

hear are echoes

of line running like

scars in trunk after

trunk, gleaming after

rain, too deep

to stop.

P.S.: After re-reading this (I forgot how many times), I realised how readers may not understand what I intended from line 10 onwards. This is like my contribution to the Me Too movement, but triggered by local university students in media limelight for the wrong reason.