The Alchemist of Dust

I looked at the sky,

but my feet were heavy with the weight of home.

They say love is a task for the brave,

but why do I only hear my own voice

crying in every narrow street of this city?

I am a man of character,

but I no longer know how to stand after I fall.

The storm of pain is too loud,

and my heart is starting to fear the world.

I want to cry—deeply, until the ink runs dry—

because the things we want in love

are the very things that are not meant to be.

My loneliness married a dream last night.

My body is dust, and its body will be dust too.

I have spent my life without a reason,

turning the whole world into a toy

just to see if it would break in my hands.

They say we could have been two bodies and one soul,

but why ask for loyalty when you only wanted love?

I am a sick man looking for a healing house,

staring at the shore while the flood arrives.

God is silent, and only the servants are shouting.

I drank the night, and then I read my prayers.

I gave the world what it wanted,

but I kept the struggle for myself.

Success is not in the introduction we give to others,

it is in the secret the roads tell us

when we are finally walking alone.

Stay firm in your art.

Stay loyal to your wreckage.

The universe is a graveyard of beautiful bodies,

but the soul—the soul is a light

that even the wind cannot blow out.