It seems a hundred years have passed.
Now the sky is flung open ahead of me.
The stumbling knees
and feet that hurt
are treading to somewhere far.
To turn back is what my soul wants
but regrets that it is not possible.
Taking a turn back will erase
my memories of all hardships.
The trauma left me open and wounded in the places
where only thin air seeps.
Ice slid from the stony shores
that speak frozen words from the clouds high,
to the rains that now bedew my veins.
This winter, this wind, this deep cold breath
left me bare in the vast open cosmos.
I will inhale the cold breaths and tread to the North.
I will tread.
