In This Stream of Molawin

In this stream of Molawin
all theologies end,
the voice of any philosopher
drowned by water hammering rocks.
Gone are all pompous resolves.

Good and evil is unknown here,
no sacred nor profane,
no kindness nor corruption.
Judgment is pulverized stones.

I will bring you here not because I love you,
nor because I want to kill you,
nor because I want to change you.
I will bring you here because this is your origin,
your well, and your final fountain.

This stream of Molawin
will drift away all your garments,
break all your warmth,
until what is left
is the hair on your skin standing
as the restrained wind wafts.