Calming with shivering my heart that wanted to leave
suffocated by the same air and mind, I dreamed only about the run
suffering, for only through your foggy curtains, I watched the sun.
Every night served me with the trial:
am I ungrateful for not loving my cage?
for not being satisfied with a forced script and the stage?
or does the moonlight justify my lust?
and unreachable stars and universe’s endlessness?
Does my aspiration need any other evidence?
Are sand under feet and snow on cheeks,
being crazed by vigorous wind and showered by bracing rain –
are those desires making one ungrateful and insane?
Or is it your fear of loneliness which brings
you thoughts and wisdom you wish to forget?
is the remembrance of times you betrayed yourself the one making you sweat?
Is craziness in fact knitting strings in order
to avoid being hurt and not loved, and not knowing
that pain is, in fact, a companion of our lust for owning.
