I ask the day,
is there something human in suffering?
Or is it just soundless pain,
floating with the wind.
I ask the Sun
how to find the right path through anothers heart,
when even spring forgot to bloom because of us.
I ask the bird is there still such a thing as the sky,
or is that just our eyes lost in oblivion.
I ask the river,
how do I touch the pain without turning it into water,
because only it knows how to flow and keep silent.
I ask the air how to let out the gut-wrenching scream
I've been choking inside since our earthly paths
fought and perished.
Who do I ask to return all the careless joy
which was gifted by nothing more than his existence.
As I sit here, curled up in my shadow without a name.