A long series of untamed bodies,
like lost soldiers of an unknown mission.
Solid rocks of ragged texture,
coarse and curvy,
plummeting around like bagged fruits,
that have no ability to touch or see.
An unknown figure shapes across me,
it feels cold and distant in its familiar shell,
eyes swelled in overdrawing caves,
skin rigid and colorless like dusty stones,
that have been carved and glued together
piece by piece.
What is this figure doing with matter that is still pliable and soft?
warm in its heart and uncorrupted from extending dread.
Certainly, plasticine has a place of its own in the landscape,
away from the worn-out hands that cannot feel their grip.
Yet your jabs are still coming forceful and sharp,
hitting against the vast sea.
They are small stones that cast ripples,
growing stronger and stronger by the wind.
And your will, ceaseless,
feeding their course,
as they continue their soft journey,
that turns slowly into waves encompassing the world,
And I only wish I could stand by your side
before the sea takes its toll.