SAND MANDAL

I'm spraying

is getting lost

transient

breath of the moment.

Terribly incomprehensible

it seems a reality.

I'm sewing it back,

weaving the constituent parts of a world that is no more.

Sand mandala,

transience.

Who are you when the wind blows you?

Who are you when you go to nothing?

What is the thread of your seam

when you mend, you weave a new one,

do you sew holes of torn reality?

Without me, the world is twisted, steamy,

lost in the ruin of the whole.

I am disintegration - I am a thread.

I am the disintegration of the world.

I'm steaming, I'm steaming

to a thread without end.

I'm a thread without a loop,

I prepared a thread of decay.

I'm spraying

is getting lost

transient

breath of the moment.

I am nothing - everything.

(Urša Štrukelj, 11/11/2018)