Where do our fingers point tonight?
They do not point towards the sky-
No, not one .
The stars , they burn
in foolish pride for those
who live esurient facades of laughter.
We have our own skies, devoid of stars
They do not shine for us tonight.
The evening leads the twilight into a trance,
And our wings lighten away together.
The sun leaves us in two minds,
and it dies,
in our arms mumbling puissant hopes,
fading with the veil of gossamery night.
The air could become a barrier and
The pugnacious wind a bridge, the rains
Could drench us in filthy curses ;
In the ferocious floods
we might float together to the sea
And stay there forever.
These hands might be far, yet near,
These hands near, yet far,
We might melt into mountains-
Of pride, of stillness.
But we will remain
Maybe with different faces,
Maybe with different names,
Drowned in the mystical moonlight,
ten fingers under the sky tonight.
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