How shall we survive those grueling past of all-shriveling storms
The strings of our words are torn apart
Never will this ocean let out any curse from its bedrock.
I wonder whether the lost souls of my childhood will come back
The exorcist has sent them to nether worlds
The grinding music waned away,
The music which stirred the silent souls;
we buried them long ago
We wait for the cold winds over the dry lands
Carrying the frozen seeds of those rhythms,
Laments across the ridges
Scratched away from wombs,
Mourning of eyes which never take forms
which never see sunlight!
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