young man contemplating solitude

he strikes upon a fresh idea,

as if with a shovel on deep mud:

he is trying to find a gold nugget

among stones and other invaluable

things of the earth. he sits on a thought, 

like steam on a warm cup of coffee,

his body imitates the form of smoke:

bent on humility and wanting to ascend.

he is like a spirit now – all absorbed

in soul and mind, removed from

all concerns he cannot relate to.

it sinks in him easily, that this was 

not an easy task, and it was not

easy to come out of it, unchanged,

similar to the moment that has just 

passed by, fulfilled but unnoticed,

like a line of cars across a toll gate,

or a crowd of people watching the sea.

what is it about being alone that 

makes people sit on it for hours,

or walk around to obtain it, or live

as to secure a bit of it for themselves?

he seems to find a definite answer,

then he glimmers like the gem he is

looking for. you become like the things

you always think of. he laughs at himself.

seeking for solitude, he has become it.

like sweetness of honey is sweetness of nectar.

like the burst of seawater coming to shore 

is the weathering of stones. he finds that 

there is no truth like the one you live

for yourself, the one that belongs to your

peculiar existence, there where you sit or 

walk, or watch land and sea meet each other.