This is an illusion of time-shrinking
With empty time intervals.......
I can feel the cosmic pulse of life shrinking in a reverse spiral.
I try to forget myself, I try to dig deeper and deeper into Nothingness..
But your lost steps bring me back.
I find myself in your arms, in your bed, inside of you.
It seems to be evening, but no, the immortal mobile horizons
In the hardened surface of the shrinking blob of quartz of the sand..
We are trying to rely their shape on our sense of sight,
Our sense of sight, that seeing-eye, crept into our vision.
Our mental vision, rooted in our mind,
Our physical vision, rooted in our astral nature.
We are trying to make them real,
But we understand that the shape can be cropped only inside of us.
We understand that the dream itself is lost, even it is nevertheless
Still our dream,
It is lost toward the still hot quartz of the soul,
Like an imaginary horizon line of the eye
Or like the bird’s eye view,
Completely off the image....
In the offing.
And we let the time to go on......
Time is an a priori form of inner sense,
It makes possible the cognition of objects qua appearances,
As our friend Kant said.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.