Why the World Spins Around

Shyness of life courage of death voice that rumbles inside your head and burdens like wormwood on weakened chest or a spring bowl full of uneaten fruits beside the dead man’s bed blind clairvoyant cursed with blessings and all the sages of the wise who will understand and who would withstand bare feet deepen in sparkling snow running scared only in nightgown throughout the speechless mob - and why the world spins around much the same as the ribbon torn out with a lock of my sister’s hair - and why I'm freezing whenever the fireworks ball lights up the sky above my home Oh… scarlet harvest of bodies and souls I have dreamed that they were sowing our last breaths in strayed fields of their own remembrance and maybe in a hundred years someone's lips will release our weeping into the world by simple saying - they also were here - they were here! so gather their voices like wheat in the late summer and hand them over to starving newcomers *** Who will deny that future is only a shadow laid by past and we are the moths with wings of broken glass bathed in the scattered light of countless treasures rescued by from the family tales and legends from dawn to dusk united or torn apart we pursue our journey throughout the time in hope that our dreams instead of reaching havens could move the hearts of stone and keep them calm for ever - To my mom and aunt who both survived the hell of war.