I open an old photograph album
to remember those old memories
flipping through pages
and letting tears drop
reliving all my phases
“re-suffering” all my cages
looping and twisting and coiling
and curling and looping and twisting
and…Stop!

The picture-perfect now
of a mere line outlining past and future
The picture-perfect now is ours
a feature that lasts no more than mere hours
harvest and sow
we’ll never become a scripture
from shadow we come
and to shadow we go

there’s no constant in our self
to be Uno is a misconception
a persona is an inception itself
a delusion, an illusion
each life is fragmented
or it is uninhabited
each life is shattered
or it is scattered
each life is broken

my denial
my emptiness
hanging for the limbo trial