You
live in the forbidden city,
so I
took
my first lesson from you
in becoming
fulfilled.
I took
the new door
of a fugitive life
to open
the window,
to open
life.
You
live in the forbidden city,
so
in your
name
I swore.
I swore
by the seven skies
and
in the name
of the hypocritical God
of this whole world.
And yet—
if you
and the touch
of your body
swallow me
with the sins
of birth,
of rebirth.
That sin
which
by birth itself
was written,
became
a curse
for all my life.
Yet
the life
that keeps flowing,
I
had gone
to you
to make
that life
pure.
Only
between us
there was
an unrestrained
coming and going
of words.
Perhaps
there was
some forbidden
exchange.
The hypocritical God
of the firmament
was watching—
or not,
I do not know.
I only
knew this:
we
had no God.
And I—
even now
am not
fulfilled.
Nor
am I pure.
Only
I
stand
near the door
of your
forbidden city.
Standing there.
Still.
The door
does not
open.
The window
does not
open.
Nor does it
fade—
this age-old
longing
to become
pure.