Like a wish of the purest light, held like a helpless bird struck by ill-will, now resting in my palms, rendered in swirling colors as if illuminated within, mirroring every point of itself, but all, maybe just in my mind, just in my mind, it rushes into my chest as a phantom of music; to sing for soul, but also to hide - through all strangeness and obscurity, to redeem the frailness, of all the unlucky - like struck by a curse, but like a curse now redeemed, through me, through this bird - I translate the mundane - cast it like spells imbued with profundity and uniqueness, and life goes on and life goes on.