As of now, a thought nourished
somewhere in my mind provokes me
insists me to relentlessly turn
thousands of pages of human history.
Surely this is written somewhere
in ancient cave paintings
or in stone carvings
of ancient monuments.
Maybe in the oldest manuscripts
of once spoken and later forgotten
of each drop of blood I carry
through the path of obscured history!
who knows if things are also not written
somewhere in secret alphabets?
A thought nourished provokes me, insists me.