The venture womb of nothingness,
Is the temple,
where the child dwells.
Or on the eclipse side;
The frozen coating,
Of the mirrors;
The place where,
Reflection rises,
Unity borns,
And the Sun is splitted into two.
Or in echos of his dialogues,
With the blade airfoils of a fan.
Crawls in inches, scratches and fringes,
In shadows and in solitude.
With his lips and nose,
And his abdominal breathing,
He ceases the world,
Into the rhymes and dreams.
lives on the lustrous lotus,
And with his gazing diamond eyes,
or ultra violet screams,
Tears everything apart.
The child chills out,
In abondened Chernobyl,
With radioactive toys.
The child easily leaves behind,
The kingdome of earth and heaven.
Child is in solitude, and in plenitude,
Self-sufficiently plays
with Legos,
Or dominos,
Or what ever,
Moves time and space.
Dwells in the venture womb of nothingness,
And flies
above the fences,
To nebulas and supernovas.
