Each year, we say This Year… and the years pass away.
It's been long time since I drew… by words, any story. Or tried to capture with letter strings, drifting thoughts that use the space of my silence as a crossing station towards a destination… still unknown to me.
And here I am feeling out with my memories' fingertips the ruins of engravings left by forgotten remembrances on the walls of my frightened silence – besieged by the monotonous noise of the winds of the consumerist becoming.
And in the blowing of the wind… I am merely a pollen particle which doesn’t know when will be the spring?
What I own grows more… but I feel I am becoming less.
Lord, I beg the solace of your company in this rampant ocean that drives everything far from you.
And forgive my…
Wronging of myself,
Ignorance of myself,
Indulgence in me,
Anger at myself,
Awareness of myself,
And my Despair… of me.
It's been long time since I drew… by words, any story. Or tried to capture with letter strings, drifting thoughts that use the space of my silence as a crossing station towards a destination… still unknown to me.
And here I am feeling out with my memories' fingertips the ruins of engravings left by forgotten remembrances on the walls of my frightened silence – besieged by the monotonous noise of the winds of the consumerist becoming.
And in the blowing of the wind… I am merely a pollen particle which doesn’t know when will be the spring?
What I own grows more… but I feel I am becoming less.
Lord, I beg the solace of your company in this rampant ocean that drives everything far from you.
And forgive my…
Wronging of myself,
Ignorance of myself,
Indulgence in me,
Anger at myself,
Awareness of myself,
And my Despair… of me.
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