Wednesday, October 13, 2010



Working with a sense of oblivion, mysterifying my own existence
 a sense of detached belonging with my surroundings
on the shores of life, cautiously yet tragically, I leave my imprints on the sands of time
 my last signs of existence, my last presence, my last interface with myself 
only to be erased by the washes of the hour, creating spaces for more imprints
for more souls to tread the journey, to roll over my own soul, to be part of myself
in the unending desires to be heard through the eyes and touched by the senses
but these waves are my own
dancing through its own madness, its own pleasant agony
it testifies about the feet which were mine

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