My cubicle is turning into a miniature carnival ground.
flags, maths, children, an entire cosmos in high saturation.
I marvel at the weight of secrets that should be tearing my soul apart
but forgetfulness erase it all,
whisper them to me I'll listen, I'll ponder
but soon the crystal crimsonness of the pomegranate
I am eating
and the patch of sunset reflected on the rear-view mirror
will mingle in my brain, into a sweet-scented butter cookie
and replace your secrets.
I learnt the real secret, the big-picture secret
so, so simple, so easy.
to stitch humanity into my soul
to feel the lamps coming alive at night
and dying in the morning
and the lamps burning inside each creature
all shining with the same comet residue.
To sink into the bark of a tree, grow leaves
feel the reverse-osmosis working within me
to melt into that stone by the stream,
memorize its thousand-year-old water story
I have to travel up to the tip of the lofty peak
roll little lumps of sky between my fingers
and contemplate on the evanescence of all things
so short, so tangible and so limpidly beautiful
My bones then grew wings and flew
to join with the whole, the shining comet.