Cvetushij Budda

Reborn from flower to flower -
You only smell of pollen flying in the wind.
There is no longing and sadness in the imaginary head.
You just thoughtlessly dissolve the leaves and buds,
Enchanting the eyes of others who come up with other meanings.
And they often decorate with bright colors places where it is more than modest.
Where they are not plucked, they live in greenhouses and also wither on the vine.
Who hears my song?!
Who in the whisper of foliage is able to unravel the fate?!
Nobody knows the next life!
If you touched on your way and influenced beyond measure -
That, in the next life you will be what you influenced, plucked, destroyed, destroyed ...
The whole karmic flow is built on that!
We take a sip of weak-willed water -
And we become water.
How to tell all those who became the executioner for others,
That he not only kills all living things,
And he kills himself, not hearing his own prayer.
We get used to our own bodies and their boundaries so
That souls are not able to realize the receptacle of the immortal!
And a plucked flower is a toy, transience, decay, a trifle ...
And the infinity of our rebirths continues to be invisible to many...

Canvas. Oil. 80x60
August 2022