Evening entered the branches of my dense Molsari Tree and was milking melodies from the throat of a bird
In the window – the evening and two birds combine to make an oil painting – slowly the birds become two dots and finally a crimson sky is left hanging alone
As darkness thickens a time comes in our beings when all objects become one and the horizontal lines in us rise and stand up as vertical lines
In your world another world rises and in that world yet another world
And like that in your belly – millions of galaxies after galaxies keep multiplying within like ptolemic spheres in the celestial realms
Those Chinese saints riding on stages among the dolls on the tables in the room come down descending from their saddles
The water rolls by kissing the hips of venetian buildings in the paintings of Crispani a boat floating on the waters and the men moving in the boat suddenly my voice rises to call them
The strokes of brush that blossomed in the hands of Rieckh , Karal –Veldt , Rawal , Chawda take life and jump out from thier gilded frames to reach me
In the still limbs of Morano Vase which pierces into its throat the stems of lilies and thorny roses and scatters stars of luminous life around sprout tender moments of life
Into my heart pierces with merciless cruelty the last desire of the last flower of the spring said to me before it fell “ would you weep for me at least once?”
The breeze comes full of perfumes turning a tune on its lips but inside the feeling arises that in the womb of the passion flower of love pathos alone is its honey
All these books these cloths my drinking glass my parker pen all these toys I feel like abandoning and walking away to the shores beyond
I think the moment has come when my cup is full to the point of overflowing