The apples baked with cinnamon produce some honey.
There are two fine porcelain tea-pots
and a paper-thin kettle with fragrant white tea.
But nor hot milk no icy water.
There are the last rays of the sun on the ceiling in my room.
In the neighboring house, opposite, the shutters are closed.
And I don't even have a curtain.
The street is dumb.
It`s empty.
Even more,
it`s voiceless.
Someone barefoot climbs up the stairs.
I hear they are shattering a bit.
There`s a floor quaking in my flat.
With each new step, the magnitude is bigger.
Living God has a piece of bread
and a glass of tart wine for all who ask or just need them.
I know this, but I order white chocolate, pastilla and rachat-lukum.
I sing the mantra "A_O_U_M" on the note "C".
I hold the voice.
The vibrations filled the body from toe-tips to top of the head.
The golden light is all around.
I`ve hoped for the grain.
And now I'm so grateful for the bounty.