The winner

Part your fingers,
And cure the heart.
The sand from your eyes
Is falling on my arms…
Under the ground,
There lights the pendulum.
Who of us both
Will become better?
It is under the water where I hid.
Now speak the words to me
And their ripe letters,
But tomorrow
They’ll come to take you.
There are green twigs on the floor
Of the wounded firtree.
And the tears from my eyes,
Like grains, are falling on your eyelids…
What is his means to love?
The soul? Or part of the well-fed body?
Release yourself from the cellar
And let yourself be free.
But it is me who sit on the stairs
Between the Sky and the Mirror.
Freedom to a free,
Wings to the free will,
But at the stairs between
You and the Heaven
I choose you.
And it’s of no importance
That life has beaten.
Again I know the secrets.
And it’s the seventh time I’ve found strength.
But somehow, who of us both is going to be the winner?
And it doesn’t even matter now that tomorrow
They’ll come to take you.