We would never become a set of wings,
if we do not tear from,
as much as fasten to, each other equally.
Running away and towards "us"
like in a never-ending circle,
like a cat chasing its tail
creating orbits,
like a yoyo,
like two oars,
an image in two mirrors,
like ups and downs of the waves.
We devour therefor we are devoured.
What we do is the mirror of what is done to us.
We do not survive if we always win;
a bird only flies with contrary wings.
We do not go on if we do not complete our circles.
We don't continue if we don't pause,
if we do not scape and return to each other simultaneously,
If we do not go up as much as we go down.
One cannot climb a mountain,
or fall down an abbey
forever.
_ If we don’t fight we don’t wave,
if we don’t inflame from the banner of opposite passions,
opposite slogan of meaning, and meaningless:
the reverse
empirical demonstration of life’s appetite,
hunger and fulfilment, thirst and satiation,
compassion and apathy. _
if we couldn’t shape together symmetrically
in either side,
like a set of wings,
a boat that moves forward, instead of turning around itself
round and round
to find the missing equilibrium
in clock hands
waltzing simultaneously and timelessly
with time and timelessness.
