time , is it just numbers

or are they monotonous milestones in the

space – time of human life which will soon be gone .


every day I write down somewhere a number

that represents a particular of time,

bolding it accidentally in

a random language that popped into my head

at that moment.


strangely, the language of the soul is a tight stream

amid the foolish indifference

of the wild stones of life.

I love it , no matter what…


no matter what i write , on the surface

of the scrap paper

on the back of a supermarket receipt ,

the other side of a doctor’s prescription or

on facebook timeline , that language is my soul

no matter what…




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