-Part One-

From your words, magically I wanted to know the world.
A fairy-tale clenched in a small hand.
A dream springs from the fingers and loses its glitter.
Come back, I don’t want to stay here all alone.
Once again, I want to give the clouds their lining.

Night, the gazes of buttons,
Forest of fluffy hands, tiny hearts.
Day, stuffed with empty background.
In my memory, always this sunrise
when you first crossed my doorstep.

Nobody but me can know me well,
But I know myself not.
I love looking at smoke dancing in sole rays of light.
As dusty drops, motioned by the nicotine oxygen,
Entwine my orbit in astral order.
I can feel the affinity and force of my words…

I am, I breathe, I feel, I am not…
The irrelevant fact of human disdain towards the essence.
The commotion of cubes, angles,
light reflections and finally of darkness.
Constituting the then, the now and the always.
The darkness is an artist without acts,
scenes, paints and brushes.
It is…
In darkness a thought moves.
Oh, Mr Twain, we are a mere thought!
If we can believe in anything but it, it would be your trauma.
It’s so inhuman.
And so be it…
The word shaped the darkness,
threw a handful of sense into the void.
And so I travel, because there is no point,
which I could echo from…

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