How long I have stood here, all the past seems has not changed at all into present. The same scarlet sky, the similar humid thin air, and this warm breeze out of nowhere. This floating feeling, this lightened breath, and this softened ground. How long I have stood here.
I have no story, I have no sonnet, and I have no poetry. This path is just a simple void between my days and nights, between my awareness and my ignorance. And by its’ nature, it has become a quiet path.
Yes, this old-time has giving me the white lines everywhere around my mind, so I can look only the past that has left. This is my evening, within the corridor of the quiet path. And still I am asking myself, how long I have stood here. What an unmoved soul I am.
Bhyllabus l'énigme 
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