You partake of the bread you are offered,
unaware of the seeds, nor the field, nor the hands,
it's the bread that matters, and the offering is all.
The past escapes you, it's without your reach,
be that a past that has come to fruition,
or a past that has not, and thus, has never been.
The seeds are there.
The seeds have transformed into new things, new for today.
But you attribute all things new to the day that is to come,
like a child dreaming.
Before the moment you opened your eyes upon this world,
you had been the world itself, whole, vast, new.
Now this is an old world that you live in,
you are getting older day by day.
What's that you hold in your hand?
Is it a yesterday's ticket to a train, or a bus?
What use is it? What use are you?
Your first cry was a cry of worship,
and your last cry will be one of grief,
because the Service is over.
15 апреля 2017 г.
The Seeds and the Service
© Copyright: Андрей Тюков, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117041506422
Свидетельство о публикации №117041506422
Рецензии