I am a person who wanders between their native longings and the unexpected desires from the future.

 

Sometimes I sing,

sometimes I compose a poem,

sometimes I sing the poem I've written,

and sometimes I sit in a corner and listen to the sighs of the walls.

 

Occasionally, I hold a brush in my hand and spread butter in the pan for Cubist pancakes for breakfast,

sometimes I turn the pan into a lamp.

 

When my vision doesn't see beyond,

I switch on the lamp,

recall the shapes of the pancakes,

listen to the whispers of my fingers,

and compose a poem for the twilight season, which lies between my native longings and the unexpected desires from the future.

 

A season where all lost birds sing their way home,

and I sing along!