How you got to know I don’t know,
But I know that you know that which my heart feels,
That we may be just artificial,
Held by fragile atomic lattices,
That nothing, absolutely nothing lasts forever.
How you might have discovered I don’t know,
That which you chose to believe,
That we may be just pencils in the hand of love,
Or maybe, that love, our love itself is emphemoral and temporal,
That it gets activated and reactivated by materialism.
How you chose to know I don’t know,
That either nothing is mutual,
Or that nothing is mutually beneficial,
Either way, no one can chose to be perfect in the eyes of love,
Not even that silent, succulent or even intrinsically innocent soul of yours,
Where lies even the selfish demon and agendas of the Noah days,
Not even my gullible and imperfect eyes of the immaculate virgin,
Which houses the insatiable nature of brother Jerome,
Could have thought about that which you know.
I wished I had known that which you know,
The prolonged journey of the Isrealites,
The hard feelings of the hands of Jacob,
In which lies the monotonous voice of Esau,
The false signal looming, crying from within the wilderness,
The smokes of hatred arising even from the forest of sambisa,
If I had the chance, I could have given myself to the thought of that which you know.
