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…