To submerge in the ocean without the bottom
And the surface,
To sink in the sea without the beginning
And the end
Where the shape and the sens
Is only a fiction.
To see blind colours,
To hear the words in comparison to which
People's tongues are only a mumble
And the logic ends with other creations
Of defective consciousness.
You don't have to be a shade longing for light.
You don't have to be an unmourned grave,
A night's wilderness,
A lonely river running a death's lane,
A mournful song on lips of the mads,
A scretched wound.
Hide for me the silver of the deepest mirrors.
Hide the jeveles which nobody found.
