Fullness

There is no full mind touched
By the golden of silence.
There's no fulfillment, in a filled,
Hasty, important, valuable mind.

Does the light shine through
A nerve-thread web,
Or a clever bush,
Weaved, grown by the needed?
Or does it radiate,
When meets a brilliant prism,
Whose sacrifice –
The lack of blocking,
The lack, of
Who-we-are in-this-world,
If we not show ours –
Was made to let go,
Not to absorb, like black hole,
Swallowing the whole,
But letting it reflect,
And shine brighter,
Than ever before.

And does the wind catch
A stone surfer?
Or does it lift up,
Who made it lighter?
Lets the force control him,
Therefore he controls the force.


Does the fish profits
From a shrimp-mud swim?
Or does it prefer,
When the sea has less of a density,
Because he doesn't need a stockpile:
Why do I build a mountain of chocolate,
Way-blocking, so mighty,
So hard to climb it,
If I do not eat all of it?
I built myself a prison,
Fabricated by handrails
I used as lifesavers –
Do I really need it?

If I could rip off,
Untangle the web,
Cut through the bush,
Cut the weight
To enlighten,
And clear the mud,
From my sea of thoughts,
Decrease the stockpiles to walk freely,
Maybe then,
I could be myself,
And then, I will be life,
The whole, the strong,
And the kindness itself.