I have written every sentiments I had in you and in the world,
Even if I become shameless through my words,
While having the experiences been exploited,
As I weave by abstractions and pinned by interpretations.

I have tasted every ink of the pen when I swallowed these pages,
Which turned me to a body buried six feet underground.
As a full moon shines, I'd be risen again and again...
Pretending to breathe like I came from a good sleep.

I have painted you through the world --- the world and us
Along with the unicorns and magical forms and the opposites
Through these theories, revolutions, and reforms
We can live but equal; we can exit the canvass' frame!

I have found you lifeless with weight again
You have been through my arms with the alphabets
Then you buried yourself; "wake up!" I cry but you never rose
Oh! Now, my words are dead...