Pesma o pesku, nebu i vibraciji
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Vibration
In sky and sand,
yellow clocks lie buried forever.
A thought made of honey
turns the sea into a fresco.
An electric sound
merges with the bell
of an abandoned church
that once drifted through the cosmos.
On the shore of solace,
the sun appears
like a lion made of dusk.
Seek no law,
but refuge.
All scents, all sounds, all colors
melt into a single image.
In the chest, a golden cherry.
In the breath, a circle without weight.
Nothing rests.
Everything trembles. Everything breathes.
What you see is not a thing,
but a relation.
A gaze leaps over time
and touches the unspeakable.
The world is not form,
but a mesh of pulses.
In the ears, the moment bends.
Sound is not outside;
it leads inward,
to a core
we sometimes call the self.
Thoughts are waves
seeking a rhythm that matches.
Sharing.
Tuning.
Vibration.
Vladimir Tomic
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