A flying bird,

And the song repeats itself.

You care so much,

He cares not.

A void in time,

And the past becomes the future.

The double mirror image keeps reflecting,

Until you know not what is the truth.

An empty note,

And the plant grows.

How quiet is earth

When floating in space?

A shiny pebble,

1, 2, 3 someone else dies.

Spiritless objects are idolized,

While suffering remains unseen.

A hollow heartbeat,

And the white is stained.

We fight for life,

When life is death.

A last hope,

And the questions are silent.

No one knows what is true or false.

The truth is polluted and changed,

Until black becomes the original colour.

We all think we love and care about people,

And when they die we weep and grieve,

But we grieve the loss of what they gave us,

And we weep for being inable to use them more.

We lie to ourselves and say we have knowledge.

A knowledge for what?

Knowledge has become letters and numbers,

And names and labels for everything.

There is not just mankind,

But there are blacks and whites and yellows and reds.

There is not just wind, water, earth, and fire,

But there are classifications and judgements

Made by people who believe the same lies.

And life continues:

Stains

Lies

Fights

Silence

And just as this poem will remain unread,

So will the world hide under its covering.

And to all the scientists and psychologists and experts:

You think yourselves so wise with your complex numbers and problems,

Yet your most advanced calculator could not solve the simplest question:

What is true freedom?