no words but a willful rush of silhouettes,
silhouettes of fading images.
holding the breath, focusing my eyes
to single manic points -taking forever
and never able to stay.
there was not hopelessness yet, within that search,
not any contradiction to be terminated by
as long as search remained as search
it would not end but operate for its own purpose only.
desires of a sound or of a ‘collection of sounds’, rose up like hot air
growing, glowing and shaping itself naturally to be able to replace the immature.
like a newly born intelligent being saying aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
“reduce it to a vibration of primitive expression
do some cries and shouts”
to be able to replace(escape) and then erase a task
but nothing came out… except
“it should be so inappropriate now in a public area as this one”
it- detached from me, refused to be postponed, insisted together with me:
“thoughts be better forgotten than being postponed”
and re-appeared as a little round light
and transformed again to sea-waves, instead of dying.
waves distilling new shore borders- approached to the huge trees behind the window.
behind my window – covered by a night’s darkness- the wind blows.
the wind used to be performed by the leaves of those in a row of two or three.
and by Pebbles of millions now.
a lonely shore- long missed, long enough for a gate to open and for me to jump in
just like that – just for a moment’s joy
I crossed the time without any worries about its science.
I saved this information in each one of the pastel colored pebbles.
a living pattern now: converting its shape and energy,
carrying a secret .
“it will always look like this : ‘just something nice to look at’ and nothing more”
it is hard to find –
that’s why images fade away -sounds remain unapproved-little round lights die in a flash.