Baskadia

We know so Little,

So little, almost nothing

and this is the only truth,

When and from where?

From the fissure of infinity

and the unreal of time,

Lonely splinters.

We wander on dreamy travels,

And the truth a flowing shadow

and it calls us,

But the call still is not heard, nor does the caller reveal his face,

And people voicelessly love and die, because the truth doesn't speak,

but dance in the harmony of unity.