How do we grow in the fires,
Burnt by an infinite flame,
Should I write my name in the ash…
As for now,
the past is the present,
Has the beginning become an eternity?

Yet as we grow,
and the roots creep deeper,
Will our orchard sway to these chants of affirmation,
glow in its broken mosaic,
Will our chants be heard,
Even at all..

Maybe when the first fruits fall..
They’ll Kiss the dew drenched grass quietly in the morning mist,
Maybe then our pain will catch a glimmer,
A fragrance,
A taste,
No more hunger for thunder,
No more names written in ash **