(no subject)
Решил запостить что-нибудь из старого творчества. Про смерть :)
Our soul is a kite stranded up in the blue. On its string wind plays the melody of life. That wind was once the breath of God when He commanded Creation. Nobody ever heard of God long since, but the wind still blows, and it will blow, while there are kites and flags, while the Earth keeps turning and the sun shining. Will it blow forever? All I know is that when it stops there will be nobody to tell.
Is that the wind that makes the kites go up? I think they are themselves striving for the only absolute freedom that is - the freedom of endless open skies. And believe me, once the string is broken and they are up there, they will never come back. They just keep rising and rising up into the infinite sky. Maybe they fly until they meet the Creator, maybe they burn in the sun, or maybe they never stop rising, up and up. All we are left to do is to roll up the torn strings of memories and look at the sky... Some day, some day...
Our soul is a kite stranded up in the blue. On its string wind plays the melody of life. That wind was once the breath of God when He commanded Creation. Nobody ever heard of God long since, but the wind still blows, and it will blow, while there are kites and flags, while the Earth keeps turning and the sun shining. Will it blow forever? All I know is that when it stops there will be nobody to tell.
Is that the wind that makes the kites go up? I think they are themselves striving for the only absolute freedom that is - the freedom of endless open skies. And believe me, once the string is broken and they are up there, they will never come back. They just keep rising and rising up into the infinite sky. Maybe they fly until they meet the Creator, maybe they burn in the sun, or maybe they never stop rising, up and up. All we are left to do is to roll up the torn strings of memories and look at the sky... Some day, some day...