The ocean pushed the shores apart, and left the island of us half way into its Nordic waters.
On the highest peak of its snowy mountains, in the house with a metal window shaped as a rose,
Between the tall endless walls reaching towards the sky where the shivers of the storms grew from under your feet,
You stood alone and naked between the life given white sheets of your pages.
I watched you silently, we both knew the time had come.
Your pen lost a beloved ink tear on the paper and it turned into a bird.
You showed it to me and said it was a mirror.
It flew and sang across the world’s waterfalls,
The song of freedom of being tied to your wrists with the string of ego, awareness and desire.
You opened the rose window and told me to follow.
I was once her.
I ran behind it at first, on its notes turned into my words, I sang and wrote
In the same dots that grew together in the song of revival.
I felt a heavy pain on my back,
My wings started growing and with them,
I flew above the world for years, and the mirror that was waiting for me back on the island became the clear eyes that guided me above my stories.
With that new cleanness and strength,
On my return,
I wanted to be tied to you and lay with you in the never touched fresh plains of the world.
But there was no more lostness.
Truth was dripping from the branches of the first buds of the fifth season
And I gathered it and drank it and turned darkness into light
Which we used to lit the windows of strangers’ cages while we flew on the streets of the world.
“We are all born to fly, but we must fly alone into what is ours…” was what you said to all of them in a whispered prayer that I knew so well.
As we witnessed birds, thousands of birds singing in the skies
I always, always grabbed your hands in despair of the memory of my moment and my first breath,
The birth of my meaningful wings.
It was then that I loved both life and death to tears because they both meant drowning, flying, dancing above the edge of the purple stars
From where we watched others journeys into their calling.
Yours words were your music and your softest music laid heavily on my eyelids in the second before I woke, When over and over again I dreamt my liveliest poem:
The glowing magical hand of reality on my forehead, the shadows telling the stories from under my eyes,
The Universe’s oldest dream realized only after I had found myself,
The big and only love of a lifetime.