when standing
in front of the mirror
he saw three faces, he looked very scary.
first,
little kids running
to a path
without shirts and pants, the hairs neck began to creep
second,
he saw his face cracked, and bleeding
third,
he saw someone
toward silence.
You still cry before the waves
remove traces of the past
like the beach between old jere and new jere
You wait while counting
wind blows sand grains to distant lands
the land that draws a thousand islands in the eyeballs
Who is the man who writes longs in your sight?
