When you climb up the mountains,
the fear of leaving everything behind follows you.
The burden of this feeling gets heavier as you rise.
The moment you find your head above the cloud,
The past behind you dissolves in the thick fog.
There is no way further up he shouts in his head.
“But I still have bloody lots to shed”
You are left with no choice.
but to settle down with what you still carrying in the right pocket.
A beautiful satisfactory compromise.
And you count
The shoes slightly ripped still can help find the way ahead.
The precious piece of the ground. The Shiny thing you kicked in the rubble,
The memory rock it turns out, you always kept in your backpack.
The old book you carried along but you didn’t open even once to read it.
The thin layer of dust is the new hardback binding.
You got it.
The smell of gradual breakdown of cellulose and lignin on the back of her neck.
The wrong turns you took, have reached to an end.
The End, Put a knot on this one, light up the other, swirl the ground.
The fool on the hill found he was the odd one out.
You look down the valley that you left behind, the trail just disappeared.
You ask yourself where did it go?
“It doesn’t matter,” said the seed who just discovered a new life.
Rising its head above the ground to see the sun for the very first time.
It’s dark down there, do you know?
I took a sip of something cold.
The soil tastes sour, I did take a bite.
That’s how I found my way out here, Ain’t it nice?
Doesn’t it really matter to you at all,
what happened down there in your very own ground?
So we made our way up here just to see the sun go down?
The Lovers and the Friends and the Insignificant I met in the last town.
Now I only have the photographs. I just forgot to count.
The seed who grew up a bit older and wiser,
Smiles and begins to sing.
Boy, you’re going to carry that weight, carry that weight a long time.