On the strand made of stone, which is flooding of visibility edge,
There is standing a person:
of high growth,
Enough to carry the faults of its existence on the shoulders.
Pressed down by a day, month, and every year of being.
Time in the sky and space in the water is reflected,
Flowing tougether at the horizon line;
By the frontier dispersed - lazy sunset,
Is announcing the dusk of another age,
Human hand is comprising the blue planet.
The Man has built the house, and his neighbours are people of every blood,
colour and shape of culture,
Extensivity, number and size of traditions and customs,
Which mixing differences, whispered of their roots.
In the solitude of village there is arising a harbour for aerial ships,
Great ones - for useful goods planetary trading constructed,
The mast of proud signs, beyond clouds has been elevated,
Which could be seen in snow-drift and sand-storm as well,
Which could be heard in ocean's whirlpools and blue sphere,
Called the symbol of non-stoping words,
Self-working calculators over the villege were scattered,
Told to serve - gossip about unity,
Trouble and destroy; Make easier outside perception and impede perception of soul.
There is noise on the market. It is getting mad in asphalt moved heat,
Possessed people are runnig around, losing gold coins, which are the objects of fight;
Invisible horses were loaded with the carriage,
Carriage full of morning star - tommorow announcing the day of peace,
The day of determination. Day that you can't escape from.
One of the villagers, waken up by a stiffled woman's screem,
Is opening his eyes wide to see:
Foreigness, precipicience and stupitidy striding insolently,
Which is used by fry as common, base of their future;
Unborn mother is taking water from the well of patterns.
Patterns fallen down with the world's rain. The life-giving patterns
- and -
Patterns sour-tasted, which were by factory's smoke corrupted.
Somebody won't give up. In the nest strange eggs will be mutilated,
Paying homage to his own past - like effect of continuity of life journey,
Someone else, in the planet citizen role, with feeding of senses as a pourpuse,
Invalidity of past for him - reason of living on the new clock,
Not better, not worse - appreciate subjectively in own measure only,
What's his fault? What's your possibility? On your own way pass throught the life.
Still Forward, keeping one direction. For you and the others, with holy considering the subject of existance - separete
in the right from the hostile; the beauty from the stupid; swollen with love of life distance - rejecting extremes -
estimate, eding crown by threefold point. Live. It works by itself. Perpetum mobile of that what is Yours - the one
truth. It's moving by itself.
There is night over the village. Bailiff's cottege's is sheding light of the market away, but the reason is not a amusement
of senses - it's a special conference, they are discousing peace and war priority. On and on,.. Blind huckstresses are
trading the value of the priceless moon,.. On and on,.. The white waters of a river, which used to be a stream, has
flooded through changing cotteges into smart boats; Let them sail,.. On and on,..
On the edge of visibility,
Eternal shack of Memory Mountains, with a candid wood-cutter as a host of life will show them one way.