When the apocalypse comes, I will remember the days I was not allowed to be myself.
When the land will tremor, the insects inside me will crawl towards the edge of my soul.
The regrets beneath me will lay out like a web of cracks on an aged wall with no end.
When my body will be underneath the fallen ceiling, I will wail remembering the burden of my emptiness that once felt like nothingness.
When the keepers of my soul will put a name to my existence, I will designate it as "life",
And if they tell me that reincarnation is real, I will still want to be me but with a different mind,
And in any parallel world, if flowers would fall from the sky, I will want to be me but with a different heart,
And if they will tell me that life will be short, I'll be a chirping bird in the eyes of my cat.
I'll be the sound of dripping water that fascinates a little girl.
I'll be a saccharine melody in the times of war.
I'll be a moment of an autumn leaf falling onto a bed of dry leaves.
I'll be a nimbus cloud to a deserted barren land.
I'll be a book in the bag of a poor boy.
I'll be a candy in the hands of a child,
I'll be the essence of lilies to a pleasing garden.
I'll be a beam of revolt to a captured slave.
I'll be a proud smile on a martyr's mother.
I'll be the infinite possibilities of incarnation after the apocalypse.