Creating in Reverse
This world is created by language and
everlasting light of nouns and gerunds coexisting
within the shell of silence.
Even the tiniest miracles can happen under a snowflake—
If anyone asks if you lost your faith
tell him that you never had one but you know how it looks.
Dreams can be lucid,
so is life.
Even if you see the black dogs of sorrow sniffing at the air
light a match.
There is always tomorrow –
every single day.
The sun is not ashamed to penetrate the tall window.
There’s a fireplace with a dead fire. The grey color
loves the ashes. Yesterday’s cat in rain is today’s
warm smile under the table. Paint what you don’t see,
which is me, looking at myself in the mirror, which is
an un-ploughed field of promise, full of ravens. Afternoon
filled with monochromatic light, seeping from the skies
of tomorrow–that’s the unsolved color of music, which
we have to keep hidden inside our pockets. Memory
is red. If it bleeds, it bleeds. The clouds, hanging there,
are to the blank canvas what poetry is to the mind.
Image by: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/08/Ashes_texture.jpg