Crossing through the red crosses

and the memories waltzing in my

veins; all pressing to the brain.

The lonely brick and my aching feet.

Only us witnessing the angry sky and

you, you were wading in my tears.

And once again confession(s),

across the years minus the

days, remains silent.

What confession(s)?

Does

not

matter.

S

I like it this way.

I fancy it wet and gray; fantasizing all those

passing planes in dimmed light, on the late nights,

and the elderly’s sincere novella.

I saw the blurry greens, the painted ponds

on a steamy ride, and I asked

the eternal question:

Did you ever know how deep it hurts

when you murmur those words;

while collapsing my world?

I’ve learnt not to rive, not to sway;

I know how to digest and not to

wind up in any way.

Let’s leave them all behind and climb up

to the rooftop; hands locked, eyes wide shut,

seeking then saluting the

non-existent sun.

Let’s swallow the poison and spoil ourselves

in silence, in this ‘very’ moment

cause happiness is ‘now’,

my sweetness.

S

Where are the love affairs and the eternal gazes

at the bus stops, way under the foggy

shelters covered with nicotine patches?

Under the morning breeze when ‘to love’ is

far from a random habit, I crave the hot sand

rescuing the sealed kisses; treasuring the lost letters.

The final destination is a flawless spot filled

with leaves of grass, with singing birds and I,

I’ll linger there in silence, holding tight to my dignity.

S

Falling and shining
like a raindrop on
the wingless
butterflies.

Daring and dancing,
while covered in
red; in cruel
paper cuts.

Between the sky and
a screwed up head,
I freeze; will
then rewind.

S

One, two, three…

Converting my belief
to my inner self, while
updating my black(est) list.

Painting a faceless “you”
then erasing it with a
“who bloody cares” attitude.

Capturing the non-existent
gray sky and showing it off
to the proud shining sun.

C’est tout.

S

I am mysterious.

You – too – are mysterious.

We – all – are mysterious.

And they?

They are monsters –

mystic monsters.

I wish them…

Oh, never mind!

S

When things
go (not) so right
the clock reads the
time six hours behind,
gray mustache grows long
above the old lady’s reddish
lips, and the crown is resting
on the idiot’s no-brain; he talks about
his inner scars while the single-legged
wild pigeon is feeding the tobacco
ends – hundreds of them on the
cold concrete – to her little
ones. Yes, that’s when
things start to fall
into the (not)
right path.

S

Drip, drip, dripping
(baby) blue oil in
the flowing liquid,
on a virgin canvas.

Blending it with
a hundred free wings;
keeping my faith
in the modest sky.

Play, play, playing
behind the red velvet;
till I’ll grow up or
perhaps I never will.

Ever?

S

Let them sink deep in their unjust

mutation, their frowning faces;

let them play the nasty game

that they often play.

Let them judge you, envy you

to their last bits of bone

then pierce their evil

souls with darkness.

W for Who

and C for

Cares.

Really.

S

I turned around,

looked down,

and thought I saw you

in your special norm,

waiting impatiently

for our precious

moments.

What treasures;

short they were;

filled by unspoken

thoughts, hidden

behind the veil of sleep;

behind moralities.

I saw the flags waving

and the yellow van

stuck in the traffic,

as you were walking

under the wet sky

somewhere

alone.

Is this yet another

illusion towards a

bleak future?

Will the truth

ever be leaked while

beauty shimmers?

Clear me.

Make this

real.

S