All the Past are not mine. My intimacy
Is not with all the Past.
There are few that make me ashamed
And speechless.
There are few too, when they come back
I proudly talk to them and never get tired.
The passed moonlit-nights come back like nymphs
And the dark nights like witches.
I set my ears to the ascetic air,
The farthest Future whispers I listen.
When the Future will dive into the Past ocean,
I wish the Past were only mine;
I wish to be what I am,
That which is detestable and dark is not me.
All the Past are not mine. Some passed-myself
Are sorrowful, painful and shameful
As if they were the convicts for death.
