Count to a hundred, round after round.
One — then zero — vanished from sight.
From jetty to cross, from bound to bound,
The wheel of samsara — shadow and light.
Dreams are but a mirage, fading away,
As you stand again in the cold,
To find drops of purity in a lie,
Drawn to the flicker of paper grown old.
From places forever abandoned, you roam,
Between twenty times the First and the Last.
Toward strange, half-open gates of home?
Or to the trusted, unharmed, held true and fast?
2026
Count to a hundred
© Copyright: Сергей Зигле, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126090500582
Свидетельство о публикации №126090500582
Рецензии