I'm amid nowhere, I say;
I strung up two beads, but now see them fall in three.
Every path he didn't see-
concealed, moss-laden in me;
From those very roads I picked the stones
the stones he didn't meet.
“Everlasting joy, I trade;
Never rusting faith, you see (?)
I strung up those beads, yet see them fall in three.
Tandem hill- a delusive peace,
Just a cruel scheme to aim at you
those very stones from devil's horns-
the ones you didn't meet.”
“I envy you this moment,
And crush my straw-strong grief,
I envy now your placid eyes,
No mark of judging me (!)”
The third stone still pierces my skin,
Somehow I am loath to part with it.
Clear anguish paints my lifeless lips-
yet I'm unwilling of hammering him.
Tandem Hill- Delusive bliss
Crumbling in its tryst to read-
his eyes pinned to me.