At bottom of ocean,
amidst silence,
a heart beats,
inside dead-man\'s wooden chest.
Perhaps in wooden chests,
we lock our hearts,
saving from splinters of
unrealised dreams.
Yet, flickering hope for human touch;
traces etched in their passings,
define who we are.
But wishes,
smell of incense in temples-
perhaps, even that of first one..
still lingers.
In the cynical sunlight,
in the false hopes of darkness—
only perhaps,
if we permit,
one uncynical breath
that doesn\'t question....
Permit ourselves to see
white cranes fly—
unlock dead-man\'s chest-
let our hearts be.