Who are you,
a sorrow or the saw of earth bent by the wind,
an unseen shadow of time,
the mesmerising heat within fire?

Why do you urge,
sting with the generosity of insects,
pile up mountains of sand,
while the brain is consumed in the midnight oven?

Corrupt rituals of love so vast,
the coloured body of crows,
and in despair, breath grows cold,
the shattered remains of a lost soul.

Are you a wild river, flow never returns to itself?
No, you are a dark night,
where light fades away from your eyes.
In the maze, one loses themselves,
Or are you my unknown poem,
Where pain secretly take root in the spaces
between the verses?

The oriole drinks the tears of the eye,
And in your melody, each shadow fades away,
Yet they do not end, but rather turn
And return. It seems,
Some higher stream of time
Wrote you,
And I, or perhaps you
Are a mistaken circle, never meant to end.

Each grain of dust on this path
Marks the silent stillness of my heart,
Yet you are nowhere,
Only a faint trace of decay left behind,
Or perhaps in the starlight,
Merging into the pure white scent,
You vanish, an unknown despair