The Sculpting of a Soul

A blind body
Running into its own image
In the mirrors of night
And breaking
Spilling a Shadow on its shoulders
Crumbling down in silence
Keeping the fear of fire
While melting down

Winds washed with its dew
Approach it
Warm and
Embellished with names of beauty
They rewrite it
With fire ink
They draw the windows of temptation
On its whiteness
And leave

And before they disappear in its blindness
It prints its name in the air
For memory
It pours its traits on the walls of night
For memory
It touches wind morsels to enlighten them
Then falls down

Peace be on it
Darkness be upon it
Heaven leans on it
 Goes forth
Comes back
Visits the land of heart
Gathers its perfume
And levels itself

A Blind body
Slowly opening its eyes
And seeing no one
A body which resembles me not
Drifting away
On the scum of fire
Without desire
Clothed with nakedness
Standing beyond the soul
And vanishing