Nothing happens

I fall and rise 

again and again, 

lies sprinkle from your 

fainted mouths, 

fountain of words;

nothing happens, 

movement so rigid, 

determined, deceptive -

white chrysanthemums. 

When I touch, I sense

a flowing tremor;

they pretend to possess

the brightness of flowers, 

the comfort of dancing waters. 

I breathe in to catch

upon the fragrance, 

I bathe under it to drench

in the comforting drops,

I suffocate, I dry, 

nothing happens. 

I'm waiting here for years, 

light falls in vain

on false images, 

nothing happens, 

melodious letters remain;

I find myself in unsung, 

unnoticed, unseen tears.