Sand

Sitting in an eternal landscape of sand,
resting and observing the swirling clouds that glitter in a sun´s grimace,
sitting and watching the sand in his discouraging variety,
whispering words to figures that develop from sand,
then changing into a new grotesquery,
dreaming and awaking endlessly in the desert of life,
waiting without thinking of time,
sitting under the cold moon at night,
sitting under the burning sun by day,
singing a passionate canon with the restless cristals,
singing and laughing without moving the mouth,
watching the sand in it´s changing forms,
trickling down from between my fingers,
wind,
silence,
I am waiting,
but waiting what for?
I am dying,
but dying what for?
I reflect on the flowing of a river at whose bank I was once standing and
watching the permanent changing of the stream,
a brief episode of cognition in an infinite illusion of perfection.
Now, I drown in an ocean of sand,
cascades of sand bury my body,
I try to scream, but sand fills my mouth,
there is no fear,
I suffocate in the sand of a lucid awakening.
I become one with the desert of life,
I become one with the omnipresent changing of forms,
I can see what has disappeared from my view for so long.
I sit by the sea and breathe in clear thoughts,
with every wave a change,
I watch the sand in its changing forms,
trickling down from between my fingers.
I presume I´ve awaked.