Echoes

Pushing down echoes of days into unattended tales at dawn (shadows still merged with nightmares, gray tough bushes as unwanted memories along the riverside).

I have been walking on the dark side of the moon this night, searching for the place where brain collapses into wishes, sounds turn to silence and its smooth, delicious, charming voice, where taste is only a different approach to life.

Walking up the stairway to heaven I crossed silent figures who walked at dusk.
A long and winding snake heading to nowhere

Singing loudly, nodding to no one, seeing no other but them, they resembled lost echoes in an empty, huge grey valley.

Dark, mysterious.

Shadow of mountains, so high not to see the sky, so silver-coloured as a steel blade standing still in front of you.

Ready to strike.

No stars spotting the black sky.

just behind you.

Unseen presences whispering and watching the scene.

It’s a breath, deep and regular as the pulse of the earth.
Maybe it’s the earth herself sporting her own life as she never did before.
Maybe it’s just me myself that for the first time at all can catch other beings beyond barriers of time and space.
Rain is falling down now crumbling down a bit of dark from the above.
Silenty, strongly, all stuff around soaks of this cold rain.
My hair, my face, my dresses are only water.
Drops are pearls, drops are life, drops are the essence of the days to come.
Plunging down into this wet world as a re-birth, as a passage to an external dimension, not discovered yet, as tribute to be paid, as a prayer to be prayed.
Where am I now?