It has been days of search

Perhaps months

Time runs different in this state of mind

Strange worlds pass by

I found myself wondering in deserts, crowded cities, along an anonymous coast

sometimes as a salesman or as a teacher or as a carpenter

and now in this forest- like place.

In the distant – seemingly far away

I caught site of a  construction

perhaps a building or a carved stone?

There was no sense of perspective or measurement

Could I approach it in one step or

is there still three and a half billion steps to go?

Should it awaken my curiosity?

I have seen too much by then

Everything seemed to exist in its neutrality

everything was nothing more than matter

massless matter- transformable forms

nothing  frightening or appealing

nothing seemed to be the matter anyway

the affairs of unconnected things

I approached the building – in a moment

ignored to guess how long it took or

how many meters-millimeters it were .

is it big or small?

each wonder transformed it from big to small

and myself from ants to giants.

I opened the door ignorant

a door like a palace door

and no one inside

feels like an ordinary house

no furniture

long, very long distances

a large space, too large to see

everywhere polished

no shadows just a pink shiny transparent floor

I have never seen such a floor before

definitely this building didn’t belong to this forest

as if it were torn from another region and placed here.

Which forest? Has there ever been a forest anyway?

Feels like I have been wondering on the same spot for ages.

the more I walked the unreachable it were

the edge of the stone – the horizon disappeared with a blurred image of the space.

Something was transforming to somewhere else

through vague lines towards another clarity.

A square room- a square polished floor

furniture – a traditionally furnished library

books everywhere – tidy and too many books.

a disappointment that things tum out to be such a mysterious cliche’

I decided not to look at the books and walk away.

Whose story is this anyway – or dream? Mine? – If so,

am I getting now angry towards my boredom?

maybe I have nothing to do here? – where am I ?

I knew where I was

I could recognize everything… just  that

it was not possible to describe it in any way by my language.

There you go
run towards the door and escape

convinced it would disappear or change its size again

touched the handle of the door

and remembered something

something that you always see and never remember.

I found myself in a narrow short corridor

leading to another door again

next was dark – then light

an intellect scene of sunset and dawn

And it was definitely the same library again!

Before I finally gave up in that very library

I’ve already made an age tour of corridors, daylights and doorhandles

All the books looked the same but none were identical.

I didn’t try to understand what made the difference

I just knew.

same cover, same size, color, lines and carves.

I opened one cover

clean and untouched – blank pages followed

how many of those have I checked enthusiastically before I got tired and mad

with a hope to see a letter, an ink mark or a readable symbol

I knew these were books – I even knew they were printed books

Why were they not readable then?

I gave up and kept a rhythm of turning the pages

with eyes closed
it was a melody then

I started singing something- a song – fluently

haven’t heard before

as if a rhythm  of turning the pages could make words, pitches, speed, repetitions

“I am composing a symphony!”

informal, serious, harsh, slow, pitiful, cheerful,  hasty,  fragile, logical

as if I turned a whole life.