(Chinese Room)
The air around you is a bitter gold.
It speaks in the language of a mirage
That I saw on a seashore.
It is a hidden depth of the sea
Which is covered by the waves,
By the horizon where they happen.
It is a golden call made of sorrow
And sand; it is a castle for a day
Which is kissed by the waves that
Efface it.
And the blind fish from rifts below
Smelled that bitter gold
And I feel its unseen body moving.
Yet it will never reach the surface
And the waves will continue to whisper
Their no-tale of mirage.
The blind fish will return to its lair
Where is no light and air
It will take the golden sorrow and
Efface it,
As if it never was.
It speaks in the language of a mirage
That I saw on a seashore.
It is a hidden depth of the sea
Which is covered by the waves,
By the horizon where they happen.
It is a golden call made of sorrow
And sand; it is a castle for a day
Which is kissed by the waves that
Efface it.
And the blind fish from rifts below
Smelled that bitter gold
And I feel its unseen body moving.
Yet it will never reach the surface
And the waves will continue to whisper
Their no-tale of mirage.
The blind fish will return to its lair
Where is no light and air
It will take the golden sorrow and
Efface it,
As if it never was.