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August. Heat. The field is yellow.
Half of the heart is crying, half is grinding.
I keep silent.
You are silent.
Only the reeds rustle.
Maybe it's the Buddha's silence.
The dog is sleeping in his hut:
no blinking, no moving ears.
Meanwhile, apples and pears
deafly fall into the grass
somewhere over there in my garden.
Are you dreaming or just sleeping
with wide-open eyes?
Are you with me today?
Here and now?
Are you hear:
in this valley by the sea,
where the wind amuses the waves-lambs?
I read the signs on your hand
and I wander whether to rejoice or to weep.
The net is thrown into our world.
God is silent.
There is silence all around.
13.02 07.08 2021
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© Copyright: Valentin Luchenko, 2021