I have met the eyes of the sun

Twirled with the skin of the wind

Teased the moon till she spilled all the secrets she knew of me

And in the words she told, I still could not remember myself

Neither do I recognise my father’s voice, or the lullabies he sang

History never stood by my side, so I learnt to stand alone


Black skies towering

Black walls erupting

Black voices standing stagnant


All that blooms with my name is not me

Its the idea of time, how it grips like magnets

Fools the maker and his heavy hands, into

Believing all men with tall legs walk the same way


But I am one without a name

So I answer to the eyes that see me

Drown myself in their sorrows, boil the soil

Thieve it off its roots and place them in a jar

To be watched, to be misplaced, to be carried instead of carrying

I might be one out of the many that is left to bloom on this soil


And all that wants to love me, almost succeeded in killing me

So when the sun shines I hide my face, give it a resting

Out of all that blooms, my name isn’t one of them

So I bow to my own anthem, gather my own soil

And then start to plant my own name.