Everything is Dead

‎Even in a city where there is no clock, time walks

‎The sun melts and night falls in the womb of time

‎Time learned to walk, long before the clock was born

‎You were born before it

‎And I was born before you

‎Our love was born even earlier.

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‎I wanted to touch the language of your fingers

‎Billions of years ago, waiting for my fingers

‎The limit of distance was infinite determination

‎I haven’t touched you yet

‎I’m running like a cloud

‎I’ve written so many poems by borrowing the blood of the sun

‎I have written miles upon miles of poetry in your eyes

‎My gaze is not tired

‎Everything is dead in the house of the dead

‎Not a single poem has found the address of your heart.

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