I want to be sure…

The road to the line of the apparent horizon
as the road to the end of life…

Who can be sure about transparent things of our life?

The story of the earth which is flying in black space…
Who can be sure about the black color of this space?

I open my eyes in the early morning.

A noise of streets comes through the windows with assurance.
Who can be sure about the reality of our life?

What is that noise?

…It is the noise of rain…

What is that noise?

…It is the noise of bells…

What is that noise?

… It is a noise of falling leaves…

What is that noise?

… It is a noise of waves of the sea…

I would like to be sure about it.