DOWN THE VERTICAL LINE

The silence emerges.
It consumes me
just like aspirin a feverish body.
I hear silence
which i can't resist.
There's a single frequency
coming from far away and long ago
straight from the surface of the Sun.

I listen to silence, to sound.
Vibrations of the flaming ball
are hypnotic.
Every morning I come to life
to hear the tireless star,
its waves
its blare.

I see silence.
It's like a marble statue,
looking up the sky,
streching its arm,
pointing its fingers
into elusivness
of the moment eternal.
Just as an artist catches a butterfly
which flutters, till it settles in the dome,
gets stuck on glass and lives for centuries on.

In silence, there are no rules.
Time persists in length,
but the vertical is ocean deep
and mountains high.

If you see and hear the silence,
and you are aware of it,
then you can slow down in a moment.
A moment which raises and drops down the line.
And thus you can grasp the highest and lowest notes.
As for this is adrenaline
that searches, finds and grabs onto an instant,
while the horizontal line
carries on, vanishes, gone.


Mankind is 200 000 years old.
How many moments are there in the atomic clock?
How many pulsating stars
radiate the rays
that you hear and feel?
To sense every single one
in electromagnetic ways
that pierce your body,
when you are in a state
to catch but a moment.

To gather courage and
stare into the night sky,
just like the marble statue.
To collect all 200 000 years.
It's just a spack of dust.
Supernova, that bore time.
Time, I have no control over.
I want to know
how UY Scuti felt,
when it realized it was the biggest star
in all known constellations.
To revive the thoughts of a single star.
Be a star for a moment.
I surrender.
I'm only 200 000 years old.

TanjaT