Dandruff spreads on my scalp in the parching wind blowing from the ocean of thoughts. White dust lies scattered as the ash of tension. Nails plow the scalp. Harsh pleasure rises from the furrow. My hair loses its vigor. A sticking friend often looks for an existence. There is dandruff on the scalp of the world too. Hairs fall down dead. A new face grows above corpses. First printed in The Literary Hatchet, US.