The Naked Thought

The pure sound flows
From the childish heart

It grows,

Without clothes or mask.

When the brand approaches

The iron goes cold  

Nothing can't melt its laces

Even when someone

With fists attached so told.

Because the chaste pure thought

Can't bear any ashes.

The naked thought stay

Calm. Has no fear or need

No claims for someone to say

“here is a blanket warm”

It’s the whole in its littleness

It’s the adult finding

Answers in its own hiding

Innocent bareness.

Mariana M.