Every kiss on mother earth’s
Generous gift,
From the cradle of life,
Till one step beyond,
Created,
Humble be the heart
Of servants, as luck shines on their path,
Wings without frost,
That rains pines of incense,
Or hailstorm deeply hidden.

Windows of glitters
That shouldn’t have been present.
Temples of vines and roots,
Is not wholly
Unexpected, as may be perceived.
Or maybe light and darkness do pave the way
With rubbles and stings, depend
On how we are mixed,
The sparkling cocktail of rainbow’s feather.

Indeed,
It squeezes a soul dry without juice
If the twist in the heart
Be left
Undiscovered.
For such confusion surpasses all feelings
That may not be collected, sprinkled,
Or utterly written,
Unless a link to the nexus
That spreads virus to all cracks and corners
And a wish to pass for generations,
Even if it flows
Far, far beneath your imagination.

But such is not the thought of the world
On poor old Atlas’s shoulder.

2007/4/24