The words will blur like stains on paper
Under the burden of sense, deprived of its power.
The clock moaned, counting instants and seconds
Of a cheerless dance under high domes of heaven.

And rain outside, that’s distorting reality,
Is walking on roofs and rippling in puddles.
And its drops fly in through the glass that is broken,
Washing away all colours with stains of pain.

I heard rain whisper that there’s no “tomorrow”,
And “yesterday” ‘s lost in those snatches of shots
Of that black and white reel, that is so long-forgotten,
Hidden in life’s slowly fading true colours.

All candles died out… they drowned in the darkness.
And loud peals of thunder will deafen the cries.
The words will blur like stains on paper
Under the burden of sense, deprived of its power.

It’s so easy to love,
Staring with wonder
And looking down at the moist soil.
It’s easy to hate,
Having grown a mute seed inside,
And, with it, the craving.

Emptiness… will fill every vessel with meaning,
When life’s ashes accumulate at the bottom.
A shot will blow away the obscure footprints,
One, that is point-black… and a cry, from afar.