My Writings

The Wise Water

Untitled by Tea Velizarova

Artwork: Serenity by Tea Velizarova

One gaze – spreading itself on the objects – my belonings, having tasted their peace – that was my gaze. Those relics, which I brought home to surround me, are the washed out faces of my travels. One look and the soul twists to welcome the calm water for the first time.

This water, which I have never seen free of strive, now rests. Water, where the body can break down and drink. The body lets go of the rope and the horse comes near on its own – to fill its veins with life.

This lake is seemingly dead, but some wisdom trembles underneath, hidden out of sight – tired and dry. I woke up centuries ago, boiled dried herbs – to heal me, I feel my hands tight, I move my fingers to feel them – that they are there, still.

The wise water receives and carries my body, I can almost feel it penetrating the skin. I would detach my jaw to swallow it all if only I believed that I need to drink it.

But it is a part of me. That night the horse slept calmly. That night the alcohol helped me fall sleep at the lake as well. The stars remained unreachable. Time began trembling, it burst into thick drops and soaked into the nostrils.

Here – at the far side of the world, where life is warm more rarely as a stubborn thorny bush jutting out in the desert – one has to reach out to his dreams, to keep him warm.

The water knows me well, the objects, the stillness, the abandoned body on the surface.

I drink it so that I can move on.

When I rest.

I will continue.

I will gather my belongings and I will carry them, along with the body


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