selective

of all the people I've met

of all the people who loved me

of all the people I have left

I chose few to be happy that life has taste and color

people who loved me were not lost

they are my inland rivers

without which the soul would dry up

Dead Sea at the turn of the times

there are people who love you unconditionally

there are people who remember you

and people for whom you do not exist

not even as a number in their statistics

drive me, O Lord, from the dry rivers

gather me in the land of green pastures

where rivers of love bathe the lips of the soul

and peace rises in the way of oblivion