Now me, now not, a thought is always there.
My genes navigate on collapsing walls,
words, dark mind, broken dreams.
But thought is always there.
I hold on firmly to sounds, voices, tongues,
the thought is always there.
Brain goes into a nameless friction,
of aimless voyage
I rediscover the myth and abandon
the zone of thoughts.
Distance becomes a wailing music.
Sitting between the flesh and bones
I recognise the relic of a window.
Let us drop the years, become timeless,
empty and hollow.
Egocentric wind violates the lungs.
We cannot sing in praise of earth.
I walk through the body,
stripping to the bones, to find the seeds.
I refuse to pluck the flowers.
