All these roads are as the result of lashes
on the body of the Christ
where space was created
upon the corporealness of cross on his shattering shoulders,
while drawing space between here and there,
between now and then
sketching the four-dimensional world
In the mind of Michael Angelo
blueprinting the creation
upon the Sistine Chapel ceiling.
I
am
the humble man of your virtue
I am the fire from within
I am you
Waiting for you to be me
I am drowning while I am ascending
I am prince while I am a beggar
I am the loneliness itself that convene every togetherness.
I am fortitude in the longitudes of all those roads
I am a statue, getting sanded in onslaughts of this pavements
against assaults of these burnishing sandstorms,
on the sole of my shoes.
I am the body of the everlasting Christ
I am a pride
who is getting smashed
under the asphalt rollers of these events
Yet, claims onto its very lonely intend of malleability,
its being rock rather than being sand,
being hulking solid than being liquid
being fume rather than being liquid
being eternal than being fluid
