I Sit with Silence

I sit
with the silence of the Golden Sun
which emanates all energy of all life and more
and utters not a word for it

I sit
with my eyes closed watching
the alternating layers of perfect fit Inca stones
rotating and grinding the being of beings in between

I sit
with the wind whistling through my nostrils
as it does in a valley of endless swaying knee high grassy patches

I lie down
observing the weaver of life
in my head, weaving a cloth of world
from the threads of sensations
by no means is the lone form the cloth can take

Lie

I lie, I have lied, I lie still
buried in the infinite void of thoughts,
buried in infinite void thoughts,
buried in the infinite thoughts devoid of thoughts,
with a mind gnawed by overturned dreams turning over.
Dreams, something which means nothing,
dreams... nothing else means anything.

Do you really live in reality?
A reality which gives the comfort of sleep
to a traveler who has traveled more than
many a hundred miles looking for shelter
where an ounce of sleep could ease the load
of leaden eyes.
Or is the oasis with overgrown date palms
which the traveler saw from a mile
with his undeceiving eyes, but a mirage?

Water

Every word from your mouth is a drop of water.
The thirst of my drying throat beckons me
to follow you around with a bucket in my hand