13. December 1998 15:52
In My Home...
There are places where the wind does not blow,
and a light beams is littered by dust.
A silent place with a few whispers,
falling down, from my ears to my heart.
And now, you are inner,
walking slowly by its rooms,
Looking at its walls,
touching with your hands.
There is nothing to fear about,
nothing to hear,