Martyria

To submerge in the ocean without the bottom
And the surface,
To sink in the sea without the beginning
And the end
Where the shape and the sens
Is only a fiction.
To see blind colours,
To hear the words in comparison to which
People's tongues are only a mumble
And the logic ends with other creations
Of defective consciousness.

You don't have to be a shade longing for light.
You don't have to be an unmourned grave,
A night's wilderness,
A lonely river running a death's lane,
A mournful song on lips of the mads,
A scretched wound.

Hide for me the silver of the deepest mirrors.
Hide the jeveles which nobody found.