What looks like a hole
is but a well...

I will not kill myself,
I said to the little boy...

The clock strikes three,
a feeble beep in the blaring silence...

In a town where no one goes,
In a yard where nothing grows...

Every morning,
just before dawn...

Imbued in the moon's silver,
I washed off the midnight's blue...

On the background of my darkness,
he sprinkled some drops of white...

As the world goes to sleep,
as the infants cease to weep...

It flows on the edge of the world,
a pristine white stream of water...

I am a lonely grain of sand,
stuck in two goblets of glass...

I sat on the silent sand,
as the water trickled below my feet...

The clock struck twelve,
time for the final call...