So what if I close my eyes in front of the
Mirror
And strip in front of my old books
Your sight became speech
Which says interminably
To give up to my entreaty
With eyes dug in the earth
In arms of flowering cherry trees
It wasn’t my choice to live
In the museum of hopes killed by time
I have just said…..
Through my chest run wild horses
My skin is hidden in an ink-bottle
Marked with words
But if you didn’t understand
You remain the holder of secrets from temples
With a step back behind my shade
In form of cross….