Head bowed, the body indifferently facing a distant rock, 
a symbol of history. 

The actual movements were designed for a more unaparent force. 
    
To stand this way was a task, for sleep was denied as the body lied 
awake, waiting for the sun to rise and for an escape from invisible 
chains. 
    
After much practice through repetition, the arms rest in perfect 
precision below the chest. 
    
Although foreign words are blurred further by thoughts of no relation 
the words leave from lips effortlessly; like smoke floating freely from 
a cigarette, or was that the remnants of a burned tree? 
    
Soon the feet begin feeling the stress of standing, and much care is 
given to the shaking knees. 

And just as the moment of collapse becomes inevitable, the back bends 
parallel to the ground. 
Now stains on clothes take precedent, as does the cramped, but mostly 
open surroundings. 
    
The back becomes straight and the lips emit an articulated cry of two 
meanings, of fear, of pride; or is that the sound the body makes when it 
feels pain and whines? 

Then quickly the knees bend, and in a haste filled with suspense and 
relief, the body contorts to a state of prostration. 

Here, dark, and the eyes if open see the floor. I, if closed, is there 
something else? 

Things make sense with this dark view, but what will the body make of the 
world when the head greets the unseen resting on both shoulders? 
    
What will the heart beat, when the body rises again to walk away into polluted gardens?