The Song Of The Wind And Nietzsche's Shadow Poem by Rain Naaa

The wind hums, teasing the withered leaves,
falling gently onto the dew-cold earth.
Alongside, the weaverbirds chirp in the lucid sky,
soaring far, breathing in the pleasure of the wind—
as if free, unbound by the weight of the world.

And I, too, dissolve into the quiet hush,
where whispers of green moss on an aging fence call me—
inviting me to ponder a life estranged,
time that erodes,
and meanings that shiver in their fragility.

Ah… if only Friedrich Nietzsche would care to sit beside me,
keeping watch over the dimming dusk.
Speaking softly of Thus Spoke Zarathustra,
stirring the soul until it drips with questions:
Is the so-called superior man truly free?
Or is he, too, imprisoned by his own humanity?

Hahaha… my mind now feels weary and tangled,
perhaps from readings that seduce and seep within—
or from silent debates within my head,
between the calm Apollonian
and the frenzied Dionysian.

Ah… enough, let it all simply drift away.