Description
Eternal childhood with delicate demands—
inside the light of a blossom the day never ends…
A journey seems too physical across the crossroad of bridges with no reflections.
Arriving at a dusty palette my hand touches a single dimensional bench by a gazebo.
There’s a supreme sanctuary—
so rare that a falling luminosity is fluid and can be captured.
All of its changes are layers of immaculacy gardening life
where each fragrant flower I put into my hair is a butterfly.
Only the Light could show me where I am
by throwing ropes of colored aroma to the impatient foliage.
For some reason I cannot wait to be mixed up
into the chased pigments of all experiences.
For some reason I cannot wait for the journey which is the only way to reach the Light.
