For what is worth, North, South, East, West
Are four walls jingling drones of rain in vain.
From North, the frost`s heat is burning and hurting me obediently, daring.
The chill of South`s fire is tearing me apart in prays` fumes
And hopes that rise, rise again and again, arrive in East,
So that in West they slowly set and set with unrest...

Both you and me met in point zero,
Where East and West are two hands praying.
Surprised by East we hid in a film of spirit,
Humming melodies saved for caressing.
Not to get lost, we clasped in each other's arms.

The melodies turned into sound, into odes,
Tattooing them on our skin in rhythm of kissing.
I didn`t understand how the world with butterflies and flowers
Is slowly, slowly and grimly disappearing
In drops of clouds naively arrived on North.

On South, the skin hurts me in thousands of particles
The lava shrieks turning points and slopes.
I am searching for paths and meanings without a map,
Without shortcuts or symbols or directions,
Without missed lessons of geography.
Wait for me!
Hopes don`t die!