let the pain hits the frail heart
the fountain drops one by one
it could be heavy or light
give the soul permission to sense and decide
it’s bleeding
the shiver scattered in the middle of the daze
silence accompany in the middle of the night
both sometimes in the middle of the crowd
it has no joy
but the decision says
it is what it is
and tomorrow needs a new decision
because the soul is fatigue already
— za.
