Our road not marked on maps.
Fugitives of the centuries,
our origin is the breathing
and our destination is exhalation,
A thousand suns are flowing in our blood,
and the vision of infinity is always chasing us.
The form cannot tame us,
Our days are a fire and our nights a sea.

Listen,
if stars are still lit it means there is someone who needs them.
It means someone wants to love,
Why then do we feel so much pain and heaviness of heart?
are we waiting for something, regretting anything?
To whom I can strech out my hand in the somber desert?
Who will accompany me on the empty night?
Who will give me a fiery day?
Who will bring back the sea that left?
No hope here. Torment is certain.
Without sacredness in the emptiness of this world of ours,
the heart of man fades like a flower.  
Suddenly, the shuddering of the heavens penetrating my soul,
Oh never let the parting sun, no star is ever lost we once have seen, the long rains will continue to fall.

You can only find out
what you are from what you are not
which is everything and nothing.
Your home is everywhere and nowhere.
Your true identity is no identity.
You aren't an owner but  
a messenger of the infinity,
The no-thing is open to everything,
timeless and Free.

Time is the architect of fate,
fleeting omen, pure phantom
in enchanting light of absence,
and our life the play of love and death,
only love will never die,
because In love no longer ‘thou’ and ‘I’ exist,
only the blossom of sacred unity.

The gods are silent in a naked sky.
the stars glitter
but the eyes of human are closed,
looking through the shadows.
If the Mountains fall and seas divide,
life brings men into deep waters,
not to drown them, but to cleanse them.

An old dream is dead
but a new one is being born,
as a tree that pushes through the solid ground to recede.
A new strength, born of pain and suffering,
is pulsating in the veins and a new empathy
and understanding is being born of past suffering.

Behind the heavens,
life and death, a tone,
Behind the heart,
a butterfly dancing,
In the end everything is simple,
as simple as a leaf that one holds in one’s hand,
as simple as the laughter of a child.