We know so little,
so little, almost nothing
and this is only truth,
when and from where?
from the fissure of infinity
and the unreel of time,
lonely splinters
we wander on dreamy travels,
and the truth a flowing shadow
and it call us,
but the call still is not heard,
nor does the caller reveal his face,
and people voicelessly love and die,
because the truth dosen't speak,
but dance in the harmony of unity.

Beggars,  
our place is placeless,
traces of the traceless,
beggars, made of immortal light,
we search the lyric grace of silent music,
the hidden harmony of stars,
we come on life to signal the end of darkness,
love, this great pull in us to connect

Maybe, in other kingdoms
to have the infallible sense
of what our lives are meant to be.
Maybe, the trees may touch us
and the flowers have time for us.
Maybe, we may gleam
a sunny morning on the leaves,
maybe, we may rest
on the immaterial chords of love.
In other kingdoms....

''I want to open up the heart of humanity,
i want to know what's inside her''
''Look your own heart.
you're a collection from angels and demons,
fairies and monsters,
a eternal battle is taking place within you''.
By day and night, the shadow is chasing us,
and the edge of the cliff is our home,
accept your shadow, in the dark the eye begins to see.

We fall, we fall so fast,
so fast to shadow,
and the skies of love diminishing,
our humanity is not here,
there is no humanity here,
in this vicinity of universe,
the stars are going out.
But you are more than you can see,
a immeassurable soul,
like love to welcome her.

To dream with the black man in one eye
and the white in the other,
a blame for all, we are human beings
and ought to be here  for each other, as revercently, as lovingly,
by teaching  the language of tolerance, of justice,
as we would before the entrance to immortality.
Be boundless, feel the earth recieve you as you are,
be conscious and the infinite expanse of heaven
will grow even wider.
I know that underneath the mess of our differences
everything is common. Just think about it.

And at the end, what?
what happens to the living when they die?
what happens to the tears when the eyes close?
Where do the stars go when we don't dream?
where the pain of memory goes?
What happens on the myriad greens of foliage
in sun and shadow?
On the deepness of the glade,
a gentle breeze wraps us with the quiet of power
by unifying our silences.