- “My Ariadne” – When did it all start, these knots? They tied the fabrics of seasons; they tied even the fabrics of the vast sea. How easy it is for you to tie my heart and bring it to thee? You brought me up and embroidered me slowly; slowly into you I recognize these sheets, where my being was all tied up for you.
But I accepted the reality that feeds this restlessness in my soul – the threads were all invisible, and only I can see them clearly. Yes, you weren’t fully aware, but so am I in the first place. It was only until recently that I figured the whole picture, a picture that even my longing did not understand. Why, of all goddesses, did these threads of my love trace back to you? I always thought they were for someone else, someone I want to know. But all knowing dawned at the sight that I have tread the wrong path, and that these knots speak for themselves that they were for someone I already knew.
My Ariadne – I will never let these threads shine in the prism of the clouds. Never shall I admit them for the heavens to see. They were for my only hope, my selfish lingering invisible hope. For if they are seen in the vast sky of your beautiful vistas, I am afraid this will shatter all hopes in me. You are my foremost longing, and I wanted only to remain that way than lose you forever or even possess you on my own.
I’ll let you soar, much as I would let you go. Yet this letting go never swallows up this surging in me, because I don’t even have all the rights to let you. I have yet to follow my own path, but you also have to follow yours. Indeed, even though my threads lead to thee, I knew it since time immemorial that yours follow through another. Thus this invisible yearning is all but a phantasmagoria of my insanity, which whispers to me from whence unknown that “I love you!” my Ariadne – and this has killed my wasted youth. I never did soar so freely like you. I was only caged in these sheets while my fantasies were fed by your transcendent charm.
Yes, I lied, I pretended, I used someone, but only so that my longing will never be gone – my fear made me darken my path, and I’ve trod the most terrifying habits of all. I was always at the hands of these clinks in my feet – I’m imprisoned by these fears, of losing you, of loving you so painfully. Every night I struggled not to arrange my thoughts of you to haunt me again, they were nightmares of dread emanating from this large lacuna between us. So did my youth pay it off, and I knew how unworthy it is that I show this lacuna in me too.
If ever you shall see these notes, it only means that I have already passed through all my gleeful feelings. These will only remain remnants of the past, but will serve me a truthful laugh when I shall go over these again in the future.
- “Smiles I knew were innocent” – How can you see through it? I smile within if I saw yours. But mine is a little conscious – it radiates your ever amusing ambiance. Yours however is a little innocent. Those lovely innocent eyes, those charming little lips – oh the magic of madness! If only you knew.
- “Estranged Secrets” – Yes? No? I traverse all speech just to express something to you, to put up a discourse, but only to put up a show. You thought you had my secrets, but you only had instead the words that are full of secrets. I wage war against my conscience if I ever did transmit these lies. Yet they were so tempting, just so I can have a word from you.
- “The loveliest knot or not” – Who knows all genuineness if it warrants the truth or not? I only know the best word to coin it at its maximum height.
- “Spirit of madness” – am I mad? This spirit keeps me busy; this spirit keeps me high. So far all efforts amount not even nigh. I wanted the results to be different, oh please please please please. Yet the spirit tells me all the same thing, unsure of, but with ease.
- “Riddles in the cave” – Ah the poet – the loose dramatist! His feelings are always blurting, but only a little truthful at the very least. See, the longing proves the fastness. The water never runs dry. But all these riddles remain chambered, if the poet shall not even try.
- “Brainstorm in stormy nights” – you know the real storm is coming, when the shades of darkness sing you songs. They are a little blurry, so vague in all along. Insomnia creeps in the shadows – it tells me not to die. The romanticisms of a tragic hero awakens in the dead of night!
- “Direct! Frankness!” – here goes the inglorious attempt, but wait, I can’t, I flee. The try accompanies its sorrows – it always fails in me.
- “Shaking” – I’m at the verge of collapse as I see the abstract colors – so dark they dim the rear. Will I ever reach the light of the tunnel? Please get me up, for real!
- “Doxology” – This marks the dancing and the opening of the first of decalogues, my heart can only try. Wait, did I just saw you swaying? Oh cordiality! It makes me laugh and cry!