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

It all started from the 14th floor,

where the miracle took its course.

Options replaced by preeminence;

pride and confidence flood in veins.

She glows and grows – day by day;

stands for more and falls for less.

Radiance flashes in her darkened eyes;

the dawn is hers, and the rich blue skies.

Drawing the peace sign in deep purple;

leaving a vestige of the whole deepness.

The wind hides in the next vineyard;

its glory is much too high to defy.

No more wonders, no more mist;

no fierce alarms and no more tricks.

Mass complexities are outdated;

No way to hinder and counsel them.

Let go, leg go, let go of the chapel’s gates

The black orchid melts in the age of innocence.

S