The Destiny

The reality is simply lost in the chimeras of either dreams or memories.
On the plot paths trodden by the Master
we lead our personal Stories to a dead end.
We dive into delusions at night, wake up with a heavy head,
drink coffee, go to work,
emerge from the subway into the nonsense of urban existence,
where office plankton occasionally spills out of its Office Centers
to captivate Shopping Malls
with their fast food, boutiques and supermarkets.
 
And at same time:
The old man is going to the sea.
And Donald Shimodah, as befits the Messiah,
rose and flew over the Sahara,
apparently to Kilimanjaro.
And two strangers, a man and a woman, walk along the boundless beach,
somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere.
There's light, there's warmth,
there's salt not from sweat and tears,
but from the Ocean.

And at Christmas they'll be watching the snow fall.
Quiet, calm, serene and heavy snow fall in the spruce forest.
Christmas wood with no Jingle Bells.
It's a destiny, here and now.
That's might be your choise.