All these roads are as the print of lashes
on his body
where the space has been spawned,
along the corporeality of the cross on his shoulder,
while drawing space between here and there,
now and then,
yet and after;
sketching the four-dimensional world
blueprinting the creation
in the mind of Michael Angelo
on 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 find me
to touch my silken marble
instead of furrowed skin.
I am ascending while I am drowning.
I am a prince while a beggar
I am the loneliness itself
that convene every togetherness.
I am fortitude of destination
along the longitudes of all these roads.
I am a stature who's getting buffed
in the assaults of these pavements,
on the sole of your shoes,
the word that’s getting burnished by the onslaughts of advents.
I am the soul of mirrors getting polished
in the sand storm of time.
I am the body of everlasting redemption
still clutching at its very intent of malleability,
its being sand rather than being rock,
being liquid, than being hulking solid
being vapour rather than being fluid
being ethereal
rather than being vapour.
