---

Purified liquids pumped upward.

Collecting broken wings, hanging them on walls.

Observe the caravans of light.

Clumsy legs running downward.

Always opposing gravity but still unable to fly.

Always opposing gravity and yet buried in a separated grave.

Lamenting with a rough voice.

Inhaling airborne rust.

Pointing fingers at the sky.

Admiring cocoons of fire.

The pillars lay obscured, flat on the ground.

And those who never saw them are not meant to speak.

Collecting broken wings.

Observe the caravans of light.

Living life in contempt.

Enjoying death in exile.