You have seen, I have seen, even the tiger who stretch for loneliness has seen,
the nocturnal balloons,
through the labyrinth of waves… blowing waves.
We all have never been here in this society full of confident people,
we are the parades of insomniacs.
Not to be; means to be indifferent about the lightnings among dark matters.
Rose trees uprooted from it’s mystic guts…and here we are licking the petals in miseries.
We all live like an artist but without the topaz of ephemeral arts…
That’s our home,
the brushes, the words…the tunes, the eyes of an eloquent beggar.
The balloons are lighthouses…and the sleepless breasts you sleep on are your oceans,
I guess we are the shores…we will never let those two clowns meet in our lifetime.