Pastel Tao

Pastel evening. Shared coffee.
Sweet smoke from patchouli and cinnamon sticks.
Dry tops of cucumbers that wrap around the terrace in summer.
The bitter smell of cumin in bunches under the roof.
The cat is sleeping on your belly.
He's dreaming.
- Meditating?
- Yes, of course.


Storks and swallows have already flown to the south-west.
To Holy Land, where our ancestors, in new bodies,
hunt crocodiles and run away from killer whales.
Depends on karma.
And here we are bearing white bodies, highly educated in Arts,
reading Hawking and trying to hurry in which direction
the black holes have approached the Earth.

Li Boh flies on a paper dragon.
Basso travels in a nirvana capsule.
For three hundred and thirty-three parsecs,
a new Emperor is waiting for him,
as a gift from God ...

And here we are, where coffee, rice paper
and three fishes painted with gouache, mascara and pastels.
The fragrant evening.
A night in bed with sheets of starched crunches,
a blanket of llama wool,
Dalai Lama lecturing on YouTube
about the vanity of life, the futility of church and religion.
The God is everywhere.
We're His Road, meaning Tao.

Let's make love, honey.
Amen!

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© Copyright: Valentin Luchenko, 2020