The identity moves ahead of the shadow of truth
I search for the absolute in vain.
Can I remove the emptiness and talk to myself?
The core feeling is same.
We flow in our own separateness.
I want to outlive my brethren and eat my death alone.
Mindful I watch the kernel, swaying tree is silent
I am here due to a fault in the genes.
Grief is not my skull house.
Each night I sleep with dry lips dreaming a lake.
My pillow floats like a chopped moon.
Silence of anonymity in the heart of a storm.
It is a curious apparition.
The vibrations of distant whispers
fill up the lungs, ripping apart the veins.
My inside blood utters a shrill sob.
Where to go?
We cannot return back.
Ending of time?
