____
Again, love flows into the keyboard through my finger tips.
Again, a handful of philosophical stone works its daily miracle.
The sky above my head is such a beauty.
The writing grows into a reading.
I'll read what has sprouted in me.
I'll be surprised again and again.
I'll cherish the golden oar,
boarding a silver boat.
I'll fly to the nearest planets,
in the depths of which life abounds.
I'll step barefoot on the damp sand.
I'll be listening with my heels how the roots grow all the time.
There are many more of us here:
angels, Nephilims, Observers,
whose gaze is sharp and soft at the same time.
We love you, funny GMOs.
Maybe you'll love us too?
- Come on, my friend! You can't make butter of low-fat milk.
- Are right. But my program works that way. I stir the space.
- Make sure your movements do not cause an earthquake or tsunami.
- Again you bring me down on the rise.
- Do not exaggerate. I just don't like pathos. I'm embarrassed by it.
- Right you are.
Both began to drink coffee with cognac, switching to wordless communication.
I'll listen to Brahms, Beethoven, then Tchaikovsky.
Definitely in the records of von Karajan.
Real music is the first and foremost magic,
and only then mathematics.
It reconciles me to existence
on this utterly insane planet.
I want to believe that in the wilds
bigfoot and yeti are still alive,
not spoiled by pandemics, global warming
and nuclear explosives.
- Are you kidding?
- Don't make me laugh.
- Could we listen to "Queen"?
- Let's start dancing.
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12.37 08/05 2021
© Copyright: Valentin Luchenko, 2021