The Bipolar Circle

/ mania. a light phase /

Look, can you see that my room is a cage? Let's face it.
When the world outside is so young and april,
I can see you with millions of tiny facets
and with millions of great strives.
I'm a warrior, artist, and minstrel fabling.
Overtake, if you can, multihanded Shiva!
I have plenty of efforts that never shrivel,
that's enough to make people thrive.
There is nothing on earth that could make me shiver.
I’m alive, I'm burning, I declare
that there is lack of life
and lack of air.

. . .

/ depression. a dark phase /

Look, can you see that my room is like Dante’s hell?
When November crawls in, it’s a darkling smear,
and a million-watt-flashlight won’t give me help,
won’t repel despair.
If you’ve seen how I smiled, so, it wasn’t me,
‘cause my batteries drained, they are almost dead.
When I’m sleeplessly lying in my cold bed
nobody's here or there,
I don’t see the way out, it drives me mad,
but I’m rolled in a blanket; it's my gyve,
and there is lack of air
and lack of life.