Everyone’s dead.
But yet some dead are alive.
They become spectators
And stand motionless as life passes by.
They’re the shores of the ocean
Eaten away by the waves,
They’re the leaves of the autumn
Influenced easily to find shelter far, far away.
They’re the rays of the sun
That disappear at night,
But then, they become the darkness
That reminds me of the blindness of their own sight.
Torn apart by forces
they try to find their soul
on a game of hide and seek
they struggle to become one of their own.
They try not to betray themselves
by making sounds in silence
they try to allure the proud white moon
and meekly learn how they can emit some of its brightness