I run away from myself.
Where are I am going? – I don’t know,
But wishing to have hundreds of skins
– One to put, the other to throw.
I don’t have a magic carpet
To fly back and forth in time.
Old mirrors have no mercy
And show me the map of my life.
I run towards my destination,
But somehow the time doesn’t fit;
I rise on toes to touch the moon,
Making prints on earth with my feet.
