The Painting

flowers of light grow within any garden of dreams

I let my mind paint a new picture of reality

it is merely a play - one of the oldest games of the Universe

on a tree of silence my birds of wisdom nest

little colored lads - busy and chatting

the mountain of truth is hidden by the clouds of my doubts

because I always watch my thoughts

but I never decide a single solution

that is why my painting has many layers

it is the making that I love not the outcome

and so my brushes turn into a shiny dark golden sky

and rest for the night to come