Now I drift under the evil stars of night,
With a wreckage of unforgiving dreams,
On a raft of rotten timber and fastening,
Amidst an ocean with no tide or storm.

At those heavens, I keep gazing in vain,
Laying in senile slumber and raving,
Farther from land than from the moon,
With no sense of direction and time.

In my hand is an oar; a home in my heart,
I neither want to row home nor drift apart,
From here I watch the moon in peace,
And hearken to the silence of the world,
And here I am for real, in person as in my heart.

There’s a heaven in my thoughts and a cosmic night,
One traverses the mind as the other trails by.

In heaven is a palace of memories of a moon,
And in the night, its unending eclipse.
The heaven once fulfilled my heart’s desire,
The night realized the dreaded fears.
Now they have become one with force,
And spread a doom I never chose.

The heaven heals for the night to kill,
The night heals for the heaven to kill.
There’s neither perspective nor slim hope.
And then I see land at the end of a watery road.

Alas, the land is a nation state,
With a crowned king and iron fence,
I sail back to my haven of thought,
And drift under the evil stars again,
Amidst an ocean with no tide or storm.