Noisy night insects and quiet morning fish changed his life

NOISY NIGHT INSECTS AND QUIET MORNING FISH CHANGED MY LIFE

Walking quietly. Dying quietly.

The present situation around me.
Inside of me, noisy sensation.

Yeah. I’m humbly proud.
You know, the sensational guy, left the crowd.

One small decision, powerful enough to change the entire mission.
Behind my back, different expressions of every situation.

Some pain near my air, a strong scream,
I’m suffering. Your friend is suffering.

Scream, because everybody cares.

Some happy news in front of your eyes.
I’m glowing. Your friend is glowing.

Scream, because everybody anticipates advice.

Louder, louder, louder.

Every human being able to count to a higher number
than five deserves to know the events, experiences in my life.

Writing. Showing. Talking.

I was there, I will be there, I want to be there.
I had a bad week.
I’ll be out of my cave next week.

Sharing. Sharing. Sharing.
Talking. Talking. Talking.

And?

Slow down. Slow down.

I’m not a rock band.
I’m not the only person in a civilized land.

Why waste words.
Why uncover superficial lines.
Nobody needs empty thoughts.
Nobody cares about the process of maturing wines.

Attention.
I don’t need attention.

At this age, I don’t need to be a temporary hero on the stage.

Breathing in a snail’s body.
Leaving visible marks behind my body.

The slimy snail left.
But it’s OK.
There, here, there are still enough slimy snails
needing applause, reminding the sweetest tone.

Developing in the wings of a swallow.
Not leaving a mark behind its wings.

This is me.
My most genuine self.

The highest mountains.
The deepest caves.

The beaten storms.
Beaten by worms.

It doesn’t matter where I’m flying, I am fine.

Wet from tears.
Cold from fears.

What a satisfying wind, blowing calming peace into my mind.
What encouraging whispers coming from contaminated buildings.

Only statues admiring with eyes, loosing the beauty hid in a silent soul.
Only artists living with hearts, discovering beauty hid outside a soul.

Look at him!
What a pitiful shadow.
Look at him.
What a lonely shadow.

Neighbours considering me dead.
I wish they could touch the wealthy paradise inside my head.

Liberating choice, to leave your place.
Liberating choice, to not feed your face.

Freed from desire, singing your own proverbs.
Freed from the desire to exhibit your own flowers.

My ears, my eyes have an open hole.
To those caring a heart instead of an empty hole.