Black ink on white paper
and the seed is born.
The faces of history don’t understand
that there is no beginning
outside the sphere of thoughts.
A shout in the silence can be heard,
a shout in the racket is unnoticed
by the average listener.
The light beam is visible only in the darkness
because the sun comes with the night.
Our life is an expression of the universe.
The reader needs something written,
the listener needs sounds,
a circle relies on corners.
What is powerful is weak
as the hole is full of nothing
at the closed opening.
The book of life is written
on the pages of wind.
– All I Know Is Unnamed –
Enamel on canvas
100x70x3,5cm
2020
D->
