To stand in

To suck few drops of nectar out of the sand in the arid desert, While your heart is desperately walking these thirsty days. To chew the rust and let the iron flow into your weak blood. To be tasteless as the water and uncaring as the clouds of February, to hunt the dust and carry the air in your blue hands. To be lonely as the moon and sudden as the lightening. To be so old but yet so young And let the flowers poison you pleasantly. To be stronger than God and steadier than the dots and vivid ultimately. To be soft and yellow, dark but reflecting, azure but so carmine. To be not like them.A matchless gleam, indispensable shrine. To forget this life and talk to the flowers and be insane in your wisest awhile. This is how happiness runs to you and you Elate without the wine.