Devil and hell,
Heaven and angels.
Thousand year-old
brown pain.
The brown vision
of my past
loves
and holds me.
I longed for smile
under the ground.
I wanted to touch
your soul.
My sparks, the glitter of my eyes
goes into you.
I’d put a compress
on your eyes.
I’d heal your wound.
I can’t leave it there.
Shackling hands.
Brown, dull pain.
Your inside’s emty,
but it’s clear
like the sky.
I read your pain,
I read your eyes.
You’ll be good,
I’ll be good.
My brown vision,
One stem of rose,
It’s all yours.
Send me away,
Because I can’t go.
Paris night.
Wonderful brown silence.
Seherezade’s telling tales
for not being killed.
Seherezade’s alive,
and she’s telling tales again.
She’s telling tales to you,
over thousand and one nights.
A soft, brown, warm,
hard Paris night.
…
Your name’s singing.