Someone in your domain asks me to send a letter about myself.
My pleasure - favorite topic.
Who am I? Can’t keep a secret - athletic, open-minded, and generous, with a wide scope, love for women, good company. With love for science and to write something everlasting, which isn’t computer programm…
When I am “Here”, the surface is “Somebody”
And nothing could affect my sparkling day.
I wouldn’t compare myself with anybody
Or with myself from any “Yesterday”
There is no actual pleasure and no pain.
The Silence is my only Coliseum.
And local superstitious rowdy chain
I keep it in the anthropology museum.
Shell is the form. Shell is the laconism.
Shell is the naked freedom of Socratic Ellyn.
And the dance of words in the carcass of rhythm
Has sense when it is only more compelling.
I doubt the phrase - “the quality of thoughts”.
It’s just a phrase, imperative for Ego.
The real clarity exists without quotes
And real me exist beyond the ego.
Each cell has its awareness and course
I am just the conductor of detectors,
With a chance to see how a thinking universe
Observe itself through some of my receptors.