Blue moon of white night, wants―

to bring down the sky

in a spiritual bliss.

Talking of reincarnation,

I am skinned alive, like

a cadaver, talking ceaselessly.

You are burning sans fire.

In absence of god, you

become a god father

to a beautiful progeny.

Leave aside the lineage.

On the horizion, a flock

of swans was returning

home to spread the watercolors.

The recluse comes out from the oblivion

to greet the inevitable.