Returning Time

It is the returning time

you greet yourself 

in your own mirror,

the barricade of your own heart.


You will love 

again to that melody

who knows you thouraughly.


Breathing again 

the desperate hymns

of the sun rays on streams

as breath of breath and pulse of pulse.


It is the season of speaking 

from the silence 

of withered willows 

of half-burned wishes.


Yeah, coming back 

again to the smiles of solitude

of memories,

of sweet hopes of solace, 

too sweet, 

too bitter sweet of paradise 

of awakening nest in chest.