Martyria

To submerge in the ocean without the bottom

And the surface,

To sink in the sea without the beginning

And the end

Where the shape and the sens

Is only a fiction.

To see blind colours,

To hear the words in comparison to which

People's tongues are only a mumble

And the logic ends with other creations

Of defective consciousness.

You don't have to be a shade longing for light.

You don't have to be an unmourned grave,

A night's wilderness,

A lonely river running a death's lane,

A mournful song on lips of the mads,

A scretched wound.

Hide for me the silver of the deepest mirrors.

Hide the jeveles which nobody found.