I orbit like a planet banished from its path,
carrying cosmic dust in my pockets and the world’s secrets dangling like dead stars.
I did not know who I was… but they knew I read the screams of the nebula.
I know everything… yet I do not know when I was born, or why moons shatter when I breathe!

I am the forgotten library that holds the end of all books.
My pages fall like meteors, each leaf crying out:
“Who will rearrange the idea before it collapses into a black hole?”
I carried the names of infinities on a school trip,
and when asked about myself, I gasped for a lost answer trapped between my ribs.

I speak the language of the impossible,
translate the silence of stars into trembling rays,
hear the dialogues of power and annihilation at a table of tangled timelines.
They say, “He knows the hour of mountains’ collapse before they crumble!”
But I cannot stop a tear as it falls from my eye.

I dance with spectral equations in night’s laboratory,
mix pain and galaxies in a vial,
search for the meaning of “I” between an equation slipping from my memory
and a blurred childhood image swarming with asteroids.
Even the map I drew of myself unravels into planetary chaos—
each time I point to a place, I whisper, “Here I was… or here I will be!”

The universe mocks me in its way,
sends coded messages in nebula hues:
“When will you learn you’re just an echo of a sound never uttered?”
I answer with a scream fossilized in space:
“I am the one who wrote the questions before answers were born!”

I discover I exist only when I am lost.
Each time I near the riddle’s end, a thousand new labyrinths bloom.
I walk a road of shattered pasts, only to reach a future
wearing the same question’s altered face:
“Are you the hero, the author, or a stray letter in eternity’s novel?”

At the chapter’s end…
I wear the universe’s skin like a threadbare coat,
let my questions hang like drowning stars,
and vow tomorrow I’ll tear off every mask.
But…
who can shed their own self twice?

Screaming,
Calling out to your ******* of a father
While staring out, far across the harbor,
Forgetting the name
Of the ship that carried him away.

The chill of the water below
Can't match the cold of a father unknown.

Oh the day when the sun hid,
Darkness rose, dancing in gloom
The leaves and flowers, are shed
Black roses had begun to bloom.

The Sun, high and bright,
Was not seen since the day.
Dweller of solar light,
Prepared sacrifices to pray.

But nil response they got,
And generations went by.
The youngster all forgot,
The ball of hope, above & high.

The sun was a forgotten tale,
None awaited his arrival.
Who still desired the scorching gale,
Were fanatics, in denial.

A poet's last poem.
Death's lullaby.
Words forever forgotten,
To be discovered,
And never understood.

Once a hand held me,  
now I rust in silent dirt,  
spikes dulled by lost wars.