I lie on the back of the austere space
with my face stooped
at those who didn’t know how to swim
in their inner tears

pity the clear days
whereby the Cosmos seemed
a little canvas

so many voices I can hear from below
and many other kinds
nursing at the truth’s warmth
with small delights
vestured in cold idols

here I must wait in silence
and observe their saintliness
when the weak manners
found themselves a roof
under human perceptions

the empty words in which they believe
have no virtue in deserted heights
and listen carefully, my child,
they will always live to forget their death

love is not what it used to be
at a simple glance
just looking at the beauty’s thighs
I can see nothing but
an ordinary walk to nowhere

often they cry on my imaginary shoulder
many of them blaspheme my eyes
until their flicker shall remain
a flame in the eternal silence
deluding the wind

I am not your redeemer
and wouldn’t want to be
for in the nearest thought
I could be as far
as forgotten waves

my remorse remains in vain
like all it has been thread with rawness
on their fragile hearts
by the years that flew in dreams
with glacial wings