By MAYA GREEN
Tell me, if you can,
Could the speck of dust floating in the wind resist it?
Or the blades of grass on the open plain stand unmoved in the breeze?
The waters of the floodgates sees no obstacles in its path,
The waves hope only to caress the beach, as often as possible;
Just like this longing is, an endless fire,
It purifies in order to unite,
It seeks to sanctify the return,
Outward seemingly but inwards, always;
To the center,
To reunion,
To nothingness,
To annihilation,
To everything.
To the one, and only.
Tell me
Tell me, if you can
