In this incense of endless dance,
and the blackness of stoic stilness,
lies a petty human sandwiched,
the dazzles and the exuberance,
of the flamboyant mistress nature,
touches it with its infinite flavors,
enchanting the dead to life,
and then when life has had it,
comes the most secret and strongest of her flavor,
of the mistress nature,
the blackness of her stillness,
which sucks out the life,
from the life, bringing peaceful death,
death of stillness,
death which shambles the toys to sand again,
and then she seducing life again,
from the dead, the still the darkness,
from stillness of her own flavor,
but the life gets ruffled,
by living half lives,
of neither enjoying her stilness,
nor enjoying her dance unspeakable,
just stuck in pettyness,
of somehow fitting in halved social constructs,
which are like endless mirage,
neither enjoying life, nor death,
nothing soaks the soul,
dance,dance,dance, o boy,
dance like a mad stupid street guy,
dance not mixed with silly logics of ifs and buts,
dance not garnished with 'idea of somehow sounding logical' to the audience,
dance not worrying about loosing logics and semiotics of life,
just dance,dance with forgetfulness of everything else,
and kiss the flavor of life,
and when you are danced,
take a dip, in the super ocean,
of blackness, the dark, the stilness,
the most intimate form of mistress,
and give in to her stilness,
engulfing the darkness of endless space,
by evaporating into it,
I petty those,
who think they are smart,
those who think they are wise,
those who think they are social,
but have not tasted for days and month,
how it feels it straddle, with madness,
madness of life, madness of stillness,
never felt the glorious change,
the madning trembling wave of escacy,
when colors flowers from pitch dark of stillness,
to the ever turned on madness,
either be so logical,
that the color of darkness,
the color of silence kisses you to the core,
or be mad man,
but don't be a virgin,
dating both stilness and madness,
but not giving in totally, to any,
always taking half steps.
just because of social constructs,
just because it is too logical to be so,
fortunate are those,
who have touched both,
and felt the inseperability,
the impossibility of seperation,
the symbiotic nature of both,
the encacy of this feel,
is beyond the tougue,
a human has,
don't be the one,
who hasn't touched the color of stillness,
or color of madness,
because what worthy is death?
if while alive, the life was untouched?
