Who asked where they are coming from or where they’re going to?
Many a day I’ve walked on red flames when I know they burn
And still my legs rise in love with life.
In the same way I longed to touch the face of the morning sun,
I also longed to kiss hands of the winds I don’t know their whereabouts.
Love doesn’t long for knowledge. Does she?
When I saw a stranger in the busy mall buzzing with humans, the body remembered itself
And the knower inside did not ask a question.
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