How do you know that you take the best way when there are so many ways of being in this world of eternal music, poetry and mystery unveiling the dance of the swans and the hardship of the smith.
How do you know that you wake up for your day and not somebody else’s day and you wear your body, and carry your thoughts on your shoulders, through the mountains and hills, until you wish to reach some destination and rest down the load of the day?
Do you ask what road to walk?
when there are so many forest roads to take, how do you know, when others drive on highways, that promise to reach sooner and faster at any visioned destination.
Do you believe in destination, in a beginning and in an end, and it is not imagination creating the wholeness that already exists and you move to through it at inconceivable speed.
How do you know you do your duty and not somebody else’s duty is taken away by advice, surprise, need or greed,
How do you know that you are writing your own poem, and not somebody else’s poem founds it’s own way of touching your heart, words and mind, despite your mother’s imagery, words come to you as wizards disguised in freedom and intimacy begging your ink waking the spirit of lovers, nations or angels sleeping in sun’s rays?
How do you know that you wear your
own skin and not somebody else's skin, God’s garment for earthy flesh that swims in waters and blood on one side and touched by mountains on the other, that never can be washed and shaped like a river wish, nor tore apart and killed with your own hands as it belongs to its Creator, while you keep believing owning it as a piece of iron armour, God’s trust embodied in skin shining light back. Tell me human of ignorance and disguise, tell me, tell me,
What would you do if you would know that your skin is not your own skin?
Would you be happy, or disappointed?
How do you know your lover is your soulmate and not somebody else's soulmate
when there are so many hungry souls in this world starving and craving for the same soul and for that same love, day and night, salty tears falling on hope’s feathers
dreaming of a reunion.
Do you believe in destination, in a beginning and in an end, and it is not imagination creating the wholeness that already exists and you move through it at inconceivable speed.
How do you know what road to walk
when there are so many forest roads to take when others drive on highways, that promise to take them sooner and faster at any visioned destination.
How do you know that your dream is your own dream and not somebody else's dream at night’s taking shape of bridges, stairs to
rainbows and brides, fairies flying over rivers of kisses at the black sea, embracing lovers sleeping in fields of yellow flowers.
Oh, Life are you the one, or are you the many? How do you know?
