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Leszec Bujnowski.

What is enough?
An eternal silence.
A fleeting sidereal fracture of space and time.
A peremptory agreement between the parties.
A hope beyond the possible.
An inconstant plenitude.
A starry vault tracing thousands of fates.
An unfinished word.
A question mark at the end of everything.
How far are lingered the columns
of an uninhabitable heaven?
How long?
The dark pits of the matter
with their unrestrained eyes,
winking their immeasurable cosmic
to where are they cruising
into the unabated night of stars?
Who understands?
Pixel after pixel
the constellations interweave
in a cloak of circuits
wrapping the deep abysm
of an endless trace.
Hurled towards their own destiny,
as prodigal sons with no possible return,
they are lost into the mist of future.
Its bright boat sailing
unto a sun coming off a world
that is left in twilight,
unconcerned about the cheerful songs,
the weeping and goodbyes.
What is enough?
A life made to measure of dreams.
A kiss overflowing with promises.
An innocuous message at the end of waiting.