nivitx - Tumblr blog

nivitx · 7 months

Text

Pink

She was floating in the twilight, the sakura branches spreading over her dress, filling the air with pink.

After she left, only the deafening silence stayed, like a bell, behind the long kiss.

#art #literature #fantasy #poem #poetry #fantasyart #scifiart #pink #sakura #poems of tumblr #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #poets of tumblr

0 notes

nivitx · 7 months

Text

BUTTERFLY'S DREAM 4

A path is made by those walking on it.

Chuang Tzu (c. 369 — c. 286 BC)

Part 1: Triangulum with Three Flashes of Lightning

The thoughts of Alberto Shimada, the second lieutenant of Excelsior

“If you could be someone else, who would you like to become?”

“I think I’d like to change back into myself. As of late, I often sense that my life is confined to the shadow of someone else’s dreams.”

“Yet, being yourself can often be a challenge. I don’t even understand well what this means. Can you define the idea of self? Can you explain what the self is?”

“You have just asked me about imagining being someone else, and now you’re saying you don’t fathom the idea of self? Why has everything to be so confusing? I, the person here, thinking and talking, the one who is within this body should be me, the ego, the self.”

“Then, if the one within your body, seeing, hearing, talking, thinking is you, how can you say you’re under the impression of being someone else?”

“I might have been myself in the past, but at night, soon after I go to bed and fall asleep, I dream of other worlds and people. And sometimes, more often than I wish, I dream of being a different person. Then, when I wake up from my dream the next morning, how can I trust I’m still the one who went to sleep? Furthermore, if I’ve got lost along the way and someone else is here in my stead, where am I now?”

“How can you know you’re not the same person? Anyone who has a mind and a heart, sees and hears, feels and talks within your body has to be you. It doesn’t matter whether you believe or not that you have a certain name and age and status. When you dream you are someone else, it is still you who sleeps and lives the other life in the realms of Morpheus. On those lands of phantasy, you can be more than a mere human. You can expand. Why should you limit your perception and existence to the willow shell that is your body?”

“Yet, is it really me the one who wakes up in the morning? How can I know? How can I be sure the life from my dream is not the real life? Maybe I’m dreaming now, and everything around me is only an illusion. Yet, I still feel that between dream and reality, between the one who dreams and the one who is dreamed of, there has to be a subtle difference. Nonetheless, dream and reality look now like two mirrors reflecting each other. Or, even better said: like a single mirror reflecting itself. How can I tell which one is the mirror and which one is the reflection?”

“You wish to find out which one is your true self? Then, in silence, you have to shut down the doors and windows connecting your mind and soul to the outside world. Light, sound, heat, or cold should not bother you. Then you can listen to what your heart is saying. When you can hear your heart, you are the mirror; when you can’t, you are the reflection. Yet, don’t forget: sometimes the mirrors can break! When this happens, you will see how the ego itself is an illusion, an illusion within an illusion. And when you reach this level of understanding, you can become anyone you like.”

Seraphios — Dialogues at the Edge of Time

A wet wind is blowing onto my face, cool and refreshing. From the rhythmic splashing sounds of the foamy waves, echoes are sprouting, ethereal and impermanent. Their music is pouring inside my ears like a delicate whisper.

My lungs are slowly moving up and down like a pair of wings, breathing in and out the glorious dance of the atoms that make up the air of my world. At this moment, the whole Universe is breathing in and out with me. In and out, inside and outside. From the slow beats of my heart to the Moon, the Sun, and beyond, there is no real distance anymore.

Soon, the flow of time reveals itself to be as illusory as the manifestation of space. This inner mounting flame is pushing open my eyelids. The light from outside pours in, filling my soul with eternity. Each breath feels now like a new birth of myself, like a cyclic return into existence. Everything is one, and one is everything.

Too many ideas and concepts are already roaming wild through my mind. Too many thoughts are flooding my perception. Some are familiar, but other seem to come from far away, as if they belonged to total strangers, mirroring me and mirroring themselves. Something doesn’t seem quite right. Have I been somewhere else before? Or, perhaps, have I been someone else before?

In the beginning was the light. Can we go back to the beginning? Can we return to what we used to be and become as pure as the light again?

♣

The sound of water.

Mother Nature has put on golden colors everywhere in and around the city. But the metropolis, as well as the continent, were left behind two days ago. Now only the ocean, an endless expanse of blue-green liquid with a faint salty odor, is stretching all the way to the horizon, wherever I look.

Standing on the deck of our fast brig, I can sense it’s autumn even here. Something hard to define makes me think of falling leaves. Is it the scent of the sea? Or could it be the fragrance of the wind? I turn my eyes up. A flock of fluffy clouds is towering high above the ship’s masts as if they were watching us. From the east, a pale, almost sick-looking Sun is shooting shy arrows of light.

The breeze blowing from the stern is pushing us with constant speed towards our destination. The tall prow cuts the waves with a slow rocking motion that generates a tender hissing sound. Here I am, on this beautiful morning of October 13, 1794. I’m in charge of the weather observations and the duty shifts of the crew.

Our vessel is sailing towards the Southern Islands, transporting weapons and ammunition. In addition, we’ve got a squadron of thirty soldiers as passengers. The soldiers will replace the current garrison in charge of the fort built there more than a century ago. These three tiny islands from the Tropics are locations of significant strategic importance for our navy. They oversee the main routes of an increasing number of ships that travel from our country towards exotic and commercially profitable shores from the Southern Hemisphere. My second mission in such far-away waters has just begun. A journey from autumn to summer and back.

The hours pass quietly. While I fill my logbook with notes, the wind is pushing our vessel with a speed of seven knots. If the weather stays the same, I should expect Excelsior to reach her destination in about eight days. But will it stay the same?

When I check the horizon with my handheld telescope in the early afternoon, I notice dark clouds gathering far away to the southeast. They’re spread over a large area and are set to cross our path. Changing the course to avoid bad weather could mean arriving at least one day late. We are most likely going to run into a storm during the first hours of the evening.

The captain is in his cabin, looking at the maps. I inform him immediately about the oncoming storm. We both return to the deck and begin the preparations for the soon-to-be unpleasant encounter. The captain wants to minimize any delay caused by the elements. He plans to take advantage of the cyclone, using it to shorten the journey to the Southern Islands by about one day. He also wants to test the efficiency of the crew. We have many new hands on board, and this storm is an excellent opportunity to check their skills.

The ship changes course to south-south-west. With no lee shore anywhere near our route, we plan to partially skirt the storm, using the strong winds that blow towards the south on the west side of the cyclone. Excelsior will keep sailing at full speed, gradually reefing her sails as the wind gets stronger. Hence, many sails will stay up and running almost until the storm is ready to strike. Our crew is large enough to take care of them in time.

Late in the afternoon, dark-gray clouds begin to fill the sky. The ocean becomes agitated and foamy. Legions of malefic spirits seem to be dancing on top of the ominous white waves. They are doing the final preparations to ram hard into our ship’s hull and do as much damage as they can. Some sails are still up, although many are reefed now. They’re pulling Excelsior southward with a speed of about eleven knots. The daylight is fading. The celestial tanks hanging above us are ready to explode and flood our vessel with a torrent of rain.

#art #literature #fantasy #fantasyart #scifi #tumblr scifi #scifiart #science fiction #sci fi and fantasy #novel #prose #amwriting #amazon #google #sea #storm #history

0 notes

nivitx · 7 months

Text

Zashiki Warashi*

Perhaps I’m leaning too much into the wind, as if it were a carpet meant to carry me over meadows.

Perhaps you’re right, and it’s only my imagination that flickered that day at Ryōan-ji**, so long ago, when I thought a spirit from the garden joined me on the journey to the other side of the Pacific, next to the Rockies.

And when I thought you left, perhaps you only went to sleep while I returned to my ancestral home from the Carpathian Mountains.

Now I’m all alone, and yesterday your name echoed on the tv screen.

And then came the power cut and the internet outage, and next morning came the frog jumping on the floor of the stable and disappearing below through a crack, and the stirring shadow at the edge of the terrace, and the cows that gave more milk than usual, and the rusty nails pushed by the broom in musical dance, and the candies that shifted on the plate from the living room.

Perhaps I’m leaning too much into the wind, and it’s only my imagination fluttering, like a pair of butterfly wings burdened by hope.

But I can’t help thinking that you might be here.

*Zashiki-warashi (座敷童子, or 座敷童, “parlor child”), sometimes also called zashiki bokko (座敷ぼっこ, “parlor boyo”), are spirit-like beings told about mostly in the Iwate Prefecture. They are said to be yokai that live in parlors or storage rooms, and that perform pranks, and that people who see one would be visited with good fortune. (from Wikipedia)

**Ryōan-ji (Shinjitai: 竜安寺, Kyūjitai: 龍安寺, The Temple of the Dragon at Peace) is a Zen temple located in northwest Kyoto, Japan. It belongs to the Myōshin-ji school of the Rinzai branch of Zen Buddhism. The Ryōan-ji garden is considered one of the finest surviving examples of kare-sansui (“dry landscape”), a refined type of Japanese Zen temple garden design generally featuring distinctive larger rock formations arranged amidst a sweep of smooth pebbles (small, carefully selected polished river rocks) raked into linear patterns that facilitate meditation. The temple and its gardens are listed as one of the Historic Monuments of Ancient Kyoto, and as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. (from Wikipedia)

#art #poem #poetry #Japan #temple #spirit #poets of tumblr #poems of tumblr #nature #culture

1 note · View note

nivitx · 8 months

Text

The Black Butterfly

It came surrounded by night. My mother was asleep, smiling serene inside a lacquered box. And it was quiet, so quiet that I wanted to scream forever.

The house was already full of people. We were stepping in circles, boiling planets around a silent star, candles and prayers blending in a solemn symphony.

The butterfly stopped on the northern wall, directly under my room’s window, black wings pierced by nails, like the hands of a martyr touching a cross.

The others left before midnight. Trying to take refuge in dreams, my eyes, wide shut by tears, sank in beams of blue light pouring out of the box where mother was resting.

Don’t be afraid, the butterfly said. I’m your grief, and I will help you get over this. Of course, it will take time, but I will be here, my friend! I will rise and shine for you until the end!

Was it yesterday? Was it a lifetime ago?

Sometimes, when I lift my eyes, it spreads soft wings like a smile, absorbing the light, swallowing my inner darkness, the black butterfly, my new friend of sorrow and pain.\

#art #literature #poem #poetry #fantasy #scifiart #fantasyart #poets of tumblr #poets on tumblr #writers and poets #poetsandwriters #poets corner #poems on tumblr #poetic #death #butterfly

1 note · View note

nivitx · 8 months

Text

Rain

Today, I’m going to be the rain.

I shall scatter over hills, spreading wet scents of plumes.

I shall open your window, letting the spring enclose my heartbeats.

The falling drops will keep singing, those old memories still alive, thirst still unquenched.

Ploaie

Astăzi am de gând să fiu ploaia.

Mă voi împrăștia peste dealuri, răspândind miresme ude de penaj.

Voi deschide fereastra ta, lăsând primăvara să-mi învăluie bătăile inimii.

Picăturile ce cad vor continua să cânte, acele vechi amintiri încă vii, setea încă nepotolită.

Pluie

Aujourd’hui, je vais être la pluie.

Je vais me disperser sur les collines, répandant des parfums humides de panaches.

J’ouvrirai ta fenêtre, laissant le printemps enfermer les battements de mon cœur.

Les gouttes qui tombent continueront à chanter, ces vieux souvenirs toujours vivants, la soif toujours inassouvie.

Lluvia

Hoy, voy a ser la lluvia.

Me dispersaré sobre las colinas esparciendo olores húmedos de penachos.

Abriré tu ventana dejando que la primavera encierre mis latidos.

Las gotas que caen seguirán cantando esos viejos recuerdos aún vivos, la sed aún no saciada.

Pioggia

Oggi, sarò la pioggia.

Mi spargerò sulle colline, disseminando profumi umidi di pennacchi.

Aprirò la tua finestra lasciando che la primavera racchiuda i battiti del mio cuore.

Le gocce che cadono continueranno a cantare, quei vecchi ricordi ancora vivi, la sete ancora inappagata.

Regen

Heute, werde ich der Regen sein.

Ich werde mich verstreuen über die Hügel, feuchte Düfte verbreiten von Federn.

Ich werde dein Fenster öffnen, damit der Frühling meine Herzschläge einschließen.

Die fallenden Tropfen werden weiter singen, die alten Erinnerungen noch lebendig, der Durst noch ungestillt.

Pluvo

Hodiaŭ, mi estos la pluvo.

Mi disiros super montetoj, disvastigante malsekajn odorojn de plumoj.

Mi malfermos vian fenestron, lasante la printempon enfermi miajn korbatojn.

La falantaj gutoj plu kantos, tiuj malnovaj memoroj ankoraŭ vivaj, soifo ankoraŭ senfunda.

Дощ

Сьогодні, я буду дощем.

Я буду розсіюватися по пагорбах, поширюючи вологі запахи шлейфів.

Я відчиню твоє вікно, впустивши весну увібрати в себе биття мого серця.

Падаючі краплі будуть продовжувати співати, ці старі спогади все ще живі, спрага все ще не втамована.

Дождь

Сегодня, я буду дождь.

Я рассею за холмами, распространение влажных ароматов шлейфов.

Я открою твое окно, давая пружине прикрыть мое сердцебиение.

Падающие капли будет продолжать петь, старые воспоминания все еще жив, жажда до сих пор нетронутой.

雨

今日は私が雨になる

丘の上に散らばるように湿った香りを撒き散らす

あなたの窓を開けよう春の息吹を私の心臓の鼓動を包み込む

落ちてくる雫が歌い続けるだろうあの古い記憶はまだ生きている渇きはまだ満たされていない

Ame

Kyō wa watashi ga ame ni naru.

Oka no ue ni chirabaru yō ni shimetta kaori wo maki chirasu.

Anata no mado wo akeyou. Haru no ibuki wo watashi no shinzō no kodō wo tsutsumikomu.

Ochite kuru shizuku ga utaitsuzukeru darou. Ano furui kioku wa mada ikiteiru. Kawaki wa mada mitasareteinai.

#art #literature #fantasy #poem #poetry #fantasyart #scifiart #rain #poets of tumblr #poems of tumblr #poems of the heart #love

0 notes

nivitx · 8 months

Text

Dreaming Butterfly

first rain of autumn – I feel like a butterfly, lost inside my dreams

(from the poetry book "Tides of Amber")

#haiku on tumblr #poem #poetry #autumn #scifi #literature #art #haiku #poets of tumblr #butterfly #dreams #scifiart #fantasyart #fantasy

1 note · View note

nivitx · 8 months

Text

Double Mirror

Nightfall. Wind and snow. I’m freezing on empty streets.

Wounded, my thoughts scatter, turning corners, shards of ice and glass, memories fading into nothingness.

Moonlight. I’m breathing a city full of ghosts, crumbling songs already vanished, already long gone.

A final deep breath. Soon, I shall sleep, I shall turn into a ghost full of cities.

(c) Marian C. Ghilea, 2021 artwork by Marian C. Ghilea, 2023

#fantasy #art #fantasyart #scifiart #snow #wind #moonlight #poem #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers and poets #original poem #poetic #dead poets society #poems on tumblr #poems and poetry

1 note · View note

nivitx · 8 months

Text

Change

The spring, sea of branches, spreads glimmers of fire among future leaves.

It’s getting late. Velvet veils of twilight pour over peaks.

I draw my sword. The blade stabs the air and lets new dreams cut my shrouds.

It’s time for a change, immortality is waiting beyond the clouds.

Wooden drops and liquid twigs mingle in silent dancing.

Dreams over dreams stay together as one: they are quickly advancing.

I’m going to shout: “I exist! That’s enough!” and let the wind carry me.

Strong wings fill the dusk, I’m ready to fight, one step from eternity.

#art #poem #poetry #fantasy #spring #change #battle #scifiart #fantasyart #fantasy illustration

0 notes

nivitx · 8 months

Text

When

When it stays, it becomes a story.

Its wings draw patterns in the sky, constellations that beckon hearts sunken in darkness, filling with stars the boiling oceans.

When love stays, it becomes a story.

I’m here, listening. So please, talk! Tell me your story. Tell me you’ll stay!

(c) Marian C. Ghilea, 2021 artwork by Marian C. Ghilea 2023

#poem #poetry #art #scifiart #fantasyart #fantasy #love #wings #sky #heart

1 note · View note

nivitx · 8 months

Text

Isthmus Crypticus

I wade through, dark streams wrapping my ankles, songs of foamy droplets falling behind hidden gates.

Ever lower, the tide whispers long forgotten words from the other side.

I slide along Isthmus Crypticus, ankle-deep in your voice calling my name.

#poem #poetry #tide #isthmus #crypticus #love #literature #lyrics #art #fantasy #fantasyart #scifiart #sea #ocean

0 notes

nivitx · 8 months

Text

Shadow

I stand in the middle, moonlight streaming over the glade.

Nightbirds carry my gaze in slow flight above branches.

When the Moon sets, I shall be gone, too, shadow among shadows embraced by darkness.

影

立つ真ん中に月の光が垣根を照らしている

夜行性の鳥私の視線を運び枝の上をゆっくりと飛んで

月が沈むと私は消えてしまう影の中の影闇に抱かれて

Kage (Japanese transliteration to romaji)

Tatsu mannaka ni. Tsuki no hikari ga kakine o terashite iru.

Yakōsei no tori watashi no shisen wo hakobi eda no ue wo yukkuri to tonde.

Tsuki ga shizumu to watashi wa kiete shimau, kage no naka no kage yami ni idakarete.

Umbră (Romanian version)

Stau în picioare în mijloc. Lumina lunii se revarsă peste poiană.

Păsări de noapte îmi poartă privirea în zbor lent deasupra ramurilor.

Când Luna apune, voi fi și eu plecat, umbră printre umbre îmbrățișate de întuneric.

You can find my books on Amazon, GooglePlay, Smashwords, etc.

#art #fantasy #scifiart #fantasyart #poem #poetry #shadow #moon #multilingual #romanian #japanese #darkness

1 note · View note

nivitx · 8 months

Text

The Yoga Class

“Are you sure you’ve got the recording right?” asked the middle-aged Indian guru. “Yes, it has been extrapolated from your brainwaves,” replied the neurologist. “I have adjusted the psi element. It’s clearly audible now.” “Very well then. I’m going to put it on during my next class, and we shall see what happens.” * Meditation. You never know how much the whole world hates you until you try it. And it’s always reserved for the last fifteen minutes of the class. Some people like it. Some people love it. Not me. I find it hard to stand still even for one minute. I’m a dynamic person. Or so I thought until recently when I realized I was getting overweight. My type of work and my lifestyle didn’t help me stay physically active. Then my cholesterol went up, and my heart began to have bad days. When things got worse, of course, I went to see a doctor and, at his recommendation, ended up here. Well, he didn’t exactly recommend yoga, but this place was by far the most conveniently located: only five minutes of driving, with a large shopping mall nearby. Also, the time of the classes harmonized well with my own work schedule. It wasn’t expensive, either. I’ve been coming here for more than a month and have to agree: there are some positive results. My waist has shrunk by a couple of inches. I also sleep better. The chest pain is almost gone. Most of the class is not bad, and the Indian guru is a good teacher. During class, we keep switching among various positions, or asanas (that’s how the yogi call them), maintaining each one for several seconds. This improves blood circulation, stamina, endurance, and flexibility without putting too much stress on a weakened heart like mine. It’s the perfect complement to the daily pills prescribed by the doc. Everything is fine until we get to the seated meditation in padmasana, the lotus position. And now we have just come to that part again. I can hear the master’s soft voice coming from the front of the class: “Relax, breathe slowly. Close your eyes and let your mind expand. Let it become one with the Universe, let it understand that you are one with the Universe.” Stretched in a half-lotus stance, as the full one looks way beyond what my joints could ever accept in matters of torture, I’m trying to follow his advice. I’ve closed my eyes but still can see him in my mind, seated comfortably in a full lotus position in front of the class, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I bet he could even sleep like that. Continues here: https://mcghilea.wordpress.com/2022/09/02/the-yoga-class/

(c) Marian C. Ghilea, 2019

#yoga #scifi #humor #shortstory #prose #literature #fantasy #ant #meditation #art

0 notes

nivitx · 8 months

Text

蜥蜴 – Tokage – Lizard – Şopârlă – Lacerto

秋の夜最後の蜥蜴石が為

Aki no yoru saigo no tokage ishi ga naru

Autumnal evening – the last remaining lizard becoming a stone

Seară de toamnă – șopârla-nsingurată devine piatră

Aŭtunvespero – lastrestanta lacerto fariĝas ŝtono

#haiku #multilingual #autumn #lizard #evening #poem #poetry #art #photography #fantasyart #japanese #romanian #esperanto

0 notes

nivitx · 8 months

Text

山の影 – The Mountain’s Shadow

春の�� 谷川洗う山の影

Haru no kun – tanigawa arau yama no kage

The fragrance of spring – fast streams wash in the valleys the mountain’s shadow

Printemparomo – akvofluoj purigas ombron de l’monto

Parfumul ierbii – în văi, șuvoaie spală umbra muntelui

image and poem by Marian C. Ghilea

#haiku #poem #poetry #nature #spring #mountain #multilingual #japanese #romanian #esperanto #shadow

1 note · View note

nivitx · 8 months

Text

TWO BELLS

Two Bells

Time never drains. Always restless, it pours into entropy, filling eons with whispers.

The first bell tolls, and everything begins to take shape.

The second bell tolls, and the Universe is already too old, an ancient child gazing ahead towards the incoming end, cloudy ripples of dreams filling whispers with eons.

Două clopote

Timpul nu se scurge niciodată. Mereu neliniștit, se varsă în entropie, umplând eoni cu șoapte.

Primul clopot sună, și totul începe să prindă contur.

Al doilea clopot sună, și Universul e deja prea bătrân, un copil străvechi ce privește înainte spre sfârșitul care se apropie, valuri înnorate de vise umplând șoapte cu eoni.

Du sonoriloj

La tempo neniam malpleniĝas. Ĉiam malkvieta, ĝi enfluas en entropion, plenigante eonojn kun flustroj.

La unua sonorilo vokas, kaj ĉio komencas formiĝi.

La dua sonorilo vokas, kaj la Universo jam estas tro malnova, antikva infano rigardanta antaŭen al alvenanta fino, nubaj ondetoj de revoj plenigante flustrojn kun eonoj.

Deux cloches

Le temps ne s’écoule jamais. Toujours agité, il se déverse dans l’entropie, remplissant les éons avec des chuchotements.

La première cloche sonne, et tout commence à prendre forme.

La deuxième cloche sonne, et l’Univers est déjà trop vieux, un enfant antique regardant devant lui vers la fin qui approche, des ondulations nuageuses de rêves remplissant les chuchotements avec des éons.

Dos campanas

El tiempo nunca se agota. Siempre inquieto, se derrama en la entropía, llenando eones con susurros.

La primera campana toca, y todo comienza a tomar forma.

La segunda campana toca, y el Universo ya es demasiado viejo, un niño antiguo que mira al frente hacia el final que llega, ondas nubladas de sueños llenando susurros con eones.

Due campane

Il tempo non si svuota mai. Sempre inquieto, si riversa nell’entropia, riempiendo gli eoni di sussurri.

La prima campana suona, e tutto comincia a prendere forma.

La seconda campana suona, e l’universo è già troppo vecchio, un antico bambino che guarda avanti verso la fine in arrivo, increspature nuvolose di sogni che riempiono sussurri con eoni.

Dois campainhas

O tempo nunca esgota. Sempre inquieto, derrama em entropia, eons de enchimento com sussurros.

A primeira campainha tocou, e tudo começa a tomar forma.

A segunda campainha tocou, e o Universo já é demasiado velho, uma criança antiga a olhar para a frente para o extremo de entrada, ondulações nebulosas de sonhos sussurros de enchimento com eons.

Zwei Glocken

Die Zeit läuft nie ab. Immer rastlos, ergießt sie sich in die Entropie, füllt Äonen mit Geflüster.

Die erste Glocke läutet, und alles beginnt Gestalt anzunehmen.

Die zweite Glocke läutet, und das Universum ist schon zu alt, ein uraltes Kind, das nach vorne blickt auf das kommende Ende, wolkige Kräuselungen der Träume füllen Flüstern mit Äonen.

Два дзвони

Час ніколи не вичерпується. Завжди неспокійний, він перетворюється на ентропію, наповнюючи віки шепотом еонів.

Дзвенить перший дзвоник, і все починає набувати форми.

Пролунав другий дзвінок, і всесвіт вже занадто старий, древнє дитя, що дивиться вперед. назустріч прийдешньому кінцю, каламутні брижі мрій наповнюючи шепіт еонами.

Два колокола

Время никогда не стекает. Всегда беспокойно, она выливается в энтропию, эоны наполнения с шепотом.

Первый колокол звонит, и всё такое начинает обретать форму.

Второй колокол звонит, а Вселенная уже слишком стара, древний ребёнок смотрящий вперёд к входящему концу, облачные колебания мечты шёпот при набивке с эонами.

二つの鐘＊時間は決して減らないいつも動いていてエントロピーに流れ込む何年もの時を囁きで満たす

最初の鐘が鳴りそして全てが形になっていく

二回目の鐘が鳴ると宇宙はすでに年をとりすぎている古代の子供が前を見つめている終わりに向かって夢の雲の波紋が囁きを埋める何年にもわたって

＊Japanese translation by Akiko Ishida