The Question: ( Who am I?)

Our true selves

A noble voice
resonating from beyond the bleak and enamel sky
A northern ocean
under a glass-roofed cool sleet
An interminable ascent of light
A cut and thirsty tongue
whose tongue never lick stagnant lake
A spiralling dance
whose breeze ripples the ocean of your eyes

A skillfully furnished garden-cosmos
surrounded by united felicity of supernatural dryads
A kind mermaid
diving in the fragile receptacle of your heart

An individual arrow
piercing the sky of your sorrows
penetrating the battering storms of your angers

A roof-bearing pillar
holding the trains on the tramways
An integrated daisy
plucked and picked by a lover’s hand

Val.