In the Splits of that Stony Picture
Take me, break me-
I beg you not to slight me!
I need to ride that glorious wind.
Take me, throw me-
Then you will trust me:
I cannot bear holding you by the hands.
In that frontage, my real nature is concealed
In that frontage, my eyes must contemplate and meet.
It is high time I avowed my strong failure,
Into moonshine I am looking for that lost tough spirit-
Within your breath, under your soul and even among the clouds,
I feel so small without you- distant spirit, lively spirit!
You are my blood! Yes, you- the blood, deadly spirit!
Would you mind calling upon me, my dear loudest whisper?
Would you mind too…Narcotic-Melodious-Angelic…shape!
I am not that stone unless you retrieve me authenticity!
I am not that stone unless you make me light and stony!
I should first drive through high thick boundaries
While looking down on how walls shall fall into knees.
It is this very time I counted to sigh and say:
“If I am your stone, why should you be afraid?
“As you are my home, will I be the dead?!”