Among the fragments of coming tempests,
Through shades of past and through future mists,
Her steps-made echoes in rain are endless…
Regained her sight (though unborn), at least
She’s never known, never comprehended,
There’s no need in a sunlit way, -
She’s sun itself, she’s a sneer of nature,
Still destiny, even if it’s lame.
And nameless, silent, like sacred sorrow,
And made of bodies Chimera’s, thorns,
Is laid out Path for the sons to follow,
The Child of Era, Of Age Unborn…
29.09.2003 ã.