The most fascinating desires and activities
are often times prohibited,
they demand us to love, to procreate and
then, detach us from this thought,
a need which we occult bellow a
tender, gruesome shade of indignity.
They demand us to work, and gladly we do it,
we are unsatisfied, yet no effort so far has succeeded
and not submitting to the voice is appropriate so long as
you remain unnoticed.
For then you'll be dragged into their cages of insolence,
Are not all but one single being?
How many degrees and efforts are required to rule over
another one's heart?
The heart is its own,
it knows better than anyone else
the solemn, perpetual voice,
amongst the others, escaping breathlessly,
Yet, after the world has sunken into
a frigid state,
it is there - beating;
even if you try to silence it,
its presence prolongs.
No one is capable of ruling over a mind or heart,
or whatever terminology pleases you,
so long as it is that pure grasp of
eternity's profound breath under your caved chest,
that feeling, that very one,
the one that holds the truths and passings
of existence, yet it remains silent.
Though undecipherable, it is understood,
It is felt.
It does not follow the reproaches of
the mind, for rather,
it governs it,
and entices it in such way,
that it allows it to be free,
the latter speaks a language of its own.