In this surprising world filled with lovely little creatures which – if you think about them – are quite grand in the stranger’s eyes, I’m daydreaming a vision with the full hope of making it a reality.

The day is off just like myself. And I, in my own silence, am making plans of not having any plans and instead am sipping on tepid coffee in a paper cup, tending to attract the virtual world with:

“Caution: Very Hot”.

S

Sitting in the balcony beside eighty-something fresh blueberries, witnessing the almost-full moon changes its color from deep red into orange mixed with yellow…

… and I’m wondering why everyone is always so concerned about the Moon and never about Mars.

Never, ever.

S

Repeat “No. 4”

S

I once explored the space
above us; around us;
between us.

You then begged me
to be spontaneous
just like showers
in a blue sky.

What happened to you
when it came to “love”?

Lost?

Bastard.

S

Once upon a time
she allowed you to
interpret; not just
whispering the words
in your both ears.

She stole the past,
abandoned it to history,
left it to the nature of
lost memories and
the incomplete times.

Did you ever
sense her
by your side?

On an empty
chair beside
an isolated wall?

S

Did I read you correctly?
“War inspires people to create.”
question mark; exclamation (!)

Days and nights pass me by;
I let go of the thoughts of
broken windows; unwanted media.

Off I go, to steadiness
between the ordinary
and the fantastical.

I, too, am inspired.

S

Design a world of not just
words; a distinct one full
of bonfires, love makings,
golds and silvers;
solid silvers.

Have you ever fallen for
a thick brownish paper,
giving the warmest
hug to your morning
cup of tea?

S

And I’m reaching the
end; the road
that is covered by
the words, the troubles,
and news about
them, you,
and us.

I externalize
your traits,
and explore the
real monster
in your fake
beauty.

I act beyond;
exaggerate your gaze,
control your reaction,
and I dream
my very own
dream in my
protection.

Then I take the
“right” way, where
Arête does not
give a dime;
does not even
exist.

And one day
near or far,
I will continue,
“Concrete”, this
ongoing project.

But for now,
I conclude:

Fin.

S

Here comes the jar,
“A Killing Jar”;
an obvious display
of truth and
illusion.

Then the reddish
stripes with pretty
girls in front,
ignoring the empty
cups.

Still flipping,
but this time,
I don’t mind, nor
do I see much,
except the surface of the
world.

From grass,
to carpet,
and to
the
sea.

Next please.

S

Flip; flip; flipping
through the cycle of
the human endeavor,
and the crying
horses.

Break down, deep down
the apparent
barriers between
the buddies; their bodies
and livings.

Run; run; run
to self-discovery;
make it a metaphor
to go high in your newly
discovered world.

Just like miniatures
provoke sentiments
of fragility, then
bend and make
them poetic.

Flip.

Again.

S