My dear son,
I always cross the hazy mountain to see you
Wash my dirt of shame with the holy foams
And have to get searched by the patrols
Only to encounter with your markings.
But yet I shall have not soared through the Louvre
To meet with Monalisa
Rather be a drone if needed
Would be an airborne in my indescribable dream
Or haunted like chiaroscuro into the festival of colors.
My son is my sun
I ‘m within you and
You’re within me!