Song from the ashes

Sand-shift of hours, persistently dissolving, the little gems, granite-reality, 

the immovable block, where times turn like weather vanes.

Life blows us along and changes the world with yet another death. 

And still, we cannot know our feelings’ contour beyond 

the outer influences shaping it. Columns jut out of contempt, pleasure, 

and the radical, no longer bearing their connections, as we are 

losing the ground beneath our feet, fast approaching the shadows. 

Give me your hand, raise me, to grasp the sublime, as it glows without ash. 

Climb the mountain peak at sunrise, open the secret door, find the last water reservoir, 

or decipher the symbols in the transparency of the air we are breathing.

Wherever the embers glow, temptation threatens in the foreboding truth, in outbreaks 

of worship and ideology, burning in dazzling invisibility throughout the great powers of the world. 

Oh drifting ice in the sea, where fatigue can shine, lament fade, and feelings become saturated!

Oh the dismay within souls ignored, starved, consumed and you, friend, sadly unknown.

We all long for what we ignore, holding on to the things we, perhaps, think we know.

Give me your hand in the desolation. Give me your hand in doubt and in the wind.

Give me your hand in all sadness.

Give me your hand to feel warmth and life, since we are only shadow and ash.

Give me your hand to climb the last mountain, as I cannot do it alone. 

Hold me up, when I fall, for everything is possible in the impossibility

close to the thirst, near the abyss.

Let us guard against the storms, the walls of doubt and the earthworks of fear.

Oh, give me your hand to hold on to joy, peace and friendship.

We all long for what we ignore holding on to the things we, perhaps, think we know.

Give me your hand to hold the true flower of joy.

Give me your hand for this fragrant intoxicating bliss.

Give me your hand, and do not let us fall into the cruel depth of the shadows.