It remains incomplete, from the navel of the lotus
Your birth, in impersonated light
In too much errors of life, the petals of word get dispersed
I also knew this
Surviving for long years, the primitive voice lives alone
In my sleeping inside
In too much errors of life, the word comes to mind
Nonetheless bringing grains from field
To fill in the blanks
In the midnight, dilapidated
In decrepit darkness, I float away
Not light —
In such dark wave, inarticulate notes
Want freedom
Making me faded
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