شاید روزی خورشید بتابد، چشمهایت را ببند

I told myself that I had found happiness
between the gardens, with the fire-speaking bushes,
not in money, clothes, jewelry, or watches.
The contentment over simple joys
within self or as in figurine toys.
Walking through the night,
asking strangers
what they are into—
a well or a spring of disguise.
In the darkness, temptations won.

In search of light, I’m all alone,
a trace of someone I knew,
the taste of lips that murmured
the song of waves anew.

Elevations and deceptions,

touches of sand over oceans,
the grains of bodies constructed from solitude,
for the skeleton and the nerves,
for these forgotten minds and brains.