The soul, when the light shines,
Is a flying butterfly on a beautiful flower.
The soul, if the soles of the night are velvet,
Dances for you with a song of stars.
But alas, if the light is darkened,
The soul dries up without flowers!
But woe, if she is matured in bitter grief,
A black hole from the soul, what becomes.
Black hole, rotating black grief,
Ever since you took off your earthly body-clothe,
And the butterfly-life is a mere memory,
Name of the rotating black hole is: non-entity!
The soul, when she flows into the world,
Is unprotected, she can never be eternal:
The soul, if defenseless, is turned by sorrow
Into a black hole: it is your prison.
You are the soul, if her existence is shining,
You are the soul: only her falling memory.
12/08. 2021., by J. W. Cassandra