To my friend
The point at which it stopped
Like a single cloud resting in the left sky
I remembered myself as I vanished on that path stretched across the lines
It was a trip from which I could not return
The ink was a blue magic liquid
Addicted to it is like crossing the high plateaus and low valleys
Those letters writhe in my soul's veins
As if it searches for every end
Nothing surrounds me but this sky
These papers are borderless countries
When I empty my bag
I thought she couldn't hold me
He showed me the diaspora that could be lost
Appointed in the feet of the palimpsest and the other on the platform
Distributed pulse chaotic lines
All signs are green
Only sidewalks keep my sight
I no longer hear the streets screaming
, pale and gloomy
Only behind the doors are stories I almost know
And alone the windows seep out the poem
To extend my hand and carry all those faces
That's impossible
I'd like to cut off those chains that bind me to the city
It is surrounded by noise belt
I want to go out empty of it to the pleasure of thirst
Take the mirage as a rug for the wind
To drop between us a nebula from the horizon
In order to die by its misguidance and its light
Go back to what you do not follow me path
Everything is open to heaven
Naked as light, clear features
And here there is nothing to scratch your eyes
Only the evening suggests heaven's messages
A moon is busy traveling, a star is calling, and the are flashing
Only birds that weave sing
Based on hearing the verses of existence
Those distances that I stand helpless face
Send me, I am here waiting for you
All that separates us is a few steps and a mile
I wrote to her that there are things that restrict me
I'll get back to you with the first convoy of July