When you so carefully treat your laziness, it stops
existing only in your imagination and finds its soul,
fragile and unprotected as the time of early evening twilight,
unknown when it appeared. Laziness – it’s not the interrupted
nervous breath of your goals and hesitations, but the smooth breathing
of solitude, the impassive hovering over the smooth surface of silence, far
away from shocks, it is a looking glass of your future life, which already
came true and which is realized by your unearthly foreboding.
Eternity is reflected in its eyes, the untilled field of the black soil of
the night sky with the spikes of stars sprouted to the ground. You are
going through this field with a shadow of the forked consciousness
forgotten by everyone and recognized by everyone, which stole from you
greedy, but incorruptible vegetation, and you’re grateful to it for this,
but how to tell about it loudly, who will hear, if there is no one around,
except for the memory, which, like a small fish, was washed ashore of
the unconscious, it gasps, the surf of memories stretches out its arms,
trying to reach out, but it’s too late, it feels so good in its unconscious,
it asks to leave it alone, and the quiet, the welcome timelessness,
comes, and the silent chimes knock the tap dance of seconds,
a kind of tattoo on the body of time, which is left without any
blood of desire.