Birth is the first chip on our windshield,
after
the cracks are going
to spread,
the first drop of paint on blank canvas.
the first step towards our death,
the first sparkle
on the hay of time!
We evade burning.
We defy death.
We flee from clarity,
the blankness, the road that has been paved,
the fields that have no roads,
the field not yet existed,
yet,
carved in our soul
as our fates.
