In the stand-off
between stolen history...

He did not want to climb the spiral helix,
a son will be born without him...

It dims the hope.
Eying peaks of flame...

Looking beyond the window
I always wanted to shut my eyes...

Watching from pin hole
lamps of baked clay...

Let me go first in the cave
to see the hollow-eyed, bird-face...

It was past endurance.
Flattened rage went into shaking palsy...

Vast emptiness preceded him,
when he stood inside a glass on road...

The king
made a fun of our poverty...

Was it necessary to see,
what you wanted me to see...

In my domain I am the child again
lost in labyrinth of stairways...

He had tied the brown thread on the pole
relieving the spirits from trees for the start...