A traveler who believes in nothing, I found myself in a strange city, one summer. The bodhi tree is in full bloom, and the flowers and leaves of the strangeness are more numerous. Strangers roam the avenues, Slowly, with apprehension, perhaps because The setting sun is heavier than the horizon, asphalt scarlet may Not only the shadow, the guillotine Not only to embellish the museum. Group of bells and Naruto's church tower clock Means more than they usually mean. Maybe that's why travelers always ask Reach out to your chest and touch it carefully See if his return ticket is still there:

Back to the place where he used to live. The weather is warm and the light is plentiful. The german on the café terrace There was a little book on her lap. I caught a glimpse of the title: An Introduction to Mysticism. Suddenly I understood that those at Montepulciano The swallows patrolling the streets, and from Eastern Europe, the so-called Central European The whispered talk of timid tourists, And standing in the rice field - yesterday?the day before yesterday? —— the nun-like egret, and erasing the silhouettes of medieval houses The slow and methodical evening, and left to the wind and sun

olive trees on the hills, and I looked closely and admired in the Louvre The head of The Unknown Prince, and butterfly wings glistening with pollen stained glass windows, and those practicing oratory by the roadside little nightingale, and any travel, any kind of sightseeing, It's all just an introduction to mysticism, It is a basic class, a postponed exam Prelude. Vermeer's little girl, now famous, She looks at me.A pearl looked at me. Vermeer's Little Girl's Lips It's red, wet, and bright. O little girl of Vermeer, O pearl, Blue Turban: You are all light

And I did it in shadow. I can't look down on shadows, With tolerance, maybe compassion. Between a computer, a pen and a typewriter, My half day is over.One day half a century will pass like this. I live in a strange city, sometimes with strangers Talk about things that are foreign to me. I listen to a lot of music: Bach, Mahler, Chopin, Shostakovich. I see three elements in music: weakness, strength and pain. The fourth type has no name. I read poets, living and dead, they taught me Firmness, faith and pride.i try to understand great philosophers—but often only grasp Scraps of their precious thoughts.

I love long walks in the streets of Paris, Watch my kind get envious, angry Driven by and desire, full of energy; likes to track down a coin from one hand to the other, slowly Wears down its round shape (the emperor's profile has been rubbed off). The trees around me don't express anything Nothing but a green, indifferent perfection. Blackbirds pace the fields, Waiting patiently, like a Spanish widow. I am no longer young, but someone is always older. I love to sleep, when I cease to be; Enjoy riding a bicycle on a country road with poplar trees and houses Melted into a ball on a sunny day.

Sometimes paintings speak to me in exhibition halls, Irony would suddenly disappear. I love looking at my wife's face. Call my dad every Sunday. Meet up with friends every other week, thus proving my loyalty. My country is freed from a demon's grip.I hope Then there will be another liberation. can i helpI have no idea. Surely I am not the son of the sea, As Antonio Machado wrote about himself, but the son of air, mint, and cello, And all the paths of the noble world are not with the life that has belonged to me so far Cross over. A black bird perched on a TV aerial, Singing soft, jazz-like tunes.

Who do you lose, I ask, and what do you mourn? I'm saying goodbye to those who died, said the black bird, I'm saying goodbye to the day (its eyes and lashes), I mourn a girl who lives in Thrace, You will not know her. I feel sorry for the frozen willow. I cry because everything fades and changes Back again, but always in a different way. My narrow throat can hardly bear it These rapid transformations brought about by Sadness, despair, joy and pride. A funeral procession passed before, Every twilight is like that, there, on the horizon. Everyone was there, I saw them and said goodbye.

I see swords, caps, hoods and bare feet, Guns, blood and ink.They walk slowly, Disappeared in the mist of the river, on the right bank. I bid them farewell to you and the light, Then meet the night, for I serve her— There are also black silk and black power.