I WAS INK

I walked alone beneath the skies I was in tears and ink,
drawing my way uncertain signs among the weeds.
The rough road does not betray me.
Myriads of diamonds, disguised as stars, gave my heart to courage
and this subtle removal of all my sorrows at the same time made me feel grown wings.
Perhaps even more was I a pen,
marking its fleeting shadow on the earth's surface.

But while my head was not in my stars continued to materialize
in the mud a destiny which I felt it was not me who cares,
I followed him so he would become mine.
The night by killing the twilight had covered my flight,
the dazzling brightness of his dark blind: I was part without hesitation,
and without hesitation he should continue.

I was aimless, but equally devoid of starting point.
If I existed or not, I had no idea but it was not the point.
However that was, all remained: the fabric of the past did not exist,
that the future was a virgin and this was floating somewhere suspended between the two.

So I walked.
Around me,
no landscape is offered to the eye and everything seemed
to drown in a darkness that seemed endless.

Only above me,
distant and sublime stretched the sky and Milky Way.
I thought for a moment that the stars would have embroidered the way of my wandering,
but since I was still down here it was probably understand that I was wrong,
my way were to emerge and it probably started - but did he really begin? I like to think not, but I expected nothing; without optimism and without defeat,
I expected as a sign.

So dawn arising in golden butterflies and blood rose,
but for me there was monochrome an immense clarity.
I expected the fall but he did not come,


I cried and everything went white.