Eyes flicker
between question and answer.
Lights are born
in the heart of darkness—
and return to it.
Along the path,
no one dares
to look them in the eye.
The secret of light
is still unknown.
They said:
everything is relative—
even truth itself;
and so the streets
stand empty.
Yet the mouths of answers
are as vast as the height of night—
devouring questions,
those questions everyone keeps asking:
Who am I?
And always, the answer is:
a return
without arrival.
At the end of the road,
thought remains alone.
It is not a place—
but the path
that draws
all places into being.
