Filed under: NEVER TOO LATE FOR A LOVE SONG
Oneness
You are the letter A, I am the digit one,
The two of us to hold the oneness alive…
The hardest way of cleaving in us is being done.
We started both with walking but ended in a dive…
We started up the journey, a rock and iron ball,
Two question marks in labor to be an exclamation!
We paid in love together the ageing heavy toll,
We sang along the ancient songs of adoration.
While being barked quite often by bulldogs of this age
No one will know how often we barked in full reply…
O, what a madding chaos surrounds us, what a rage!
Our quiet moments are shorter than a sigh…
But in the Lord, together, we’ll make it day by day,
With me the digit one and you the letter A!…
The Beginning Of a Poem
What a counting of two by two
This color of your eyes!
Your Tears
Your tears, darling, resemble a sea,
A shore less sea, if I may say so…
There is nothing to hang your dreams on,
Nothing beyond, nowhere to go…
As you cry or whisper your will
I can see some timelessness here and there,
Don’t dilute those live particles of love
Don’t waste their touchlessness just everywhere….
You see, one plus one seem to equal two
In this betrayed loneliness of your eyesight…
Where is my place in your cry, darling?
Whose darkness is flowing through this night?
Listen, this silence is melting on some sandy shore…
I see more in your tears, a lot more!
A donut shaped universe
It’s been more like
A donut shaped universe:
Light running the circles
From the shallowness of the
Chocolate glaze
To the depts
Of a coffee mug,
And us
Ferociously awake!
Testament
I wanted this to be a poem,
A love poem or something
That your heart bit can race on,
A highway on the asphalt of my soul,
A leaf slicing the wind
In bits of eternity…
Then I said: let it be
Whatever it turns to be,
Perhaps a testament
Or just your hair playing
This wind
And the winds to come…
It’s Like…
Your life is like, when, totally unprepared
You’re called to hold a speech
To huge gatherings of emotion bearers
(A teritory always within your reach).
This life, you say, is like roses and swords…
Something is always after you,
One day you may find yourself
Frying in your words…
This life, you say, is sweet
Tender, bitter and rough,
A quiet place somewhere is much needed
(Half eternity, you see, is not enough)…
Oh, how you wish you could
Tiptoe trough some vague ideas
Instead of drumming your breath
In this concert of half truths…
You age searching blindfolded
Who knows what, perhaps a second youth?
“How long you live” is better said “how much”
But in conclusion, this life is nothing but
A totally unprepared speech, in a new tongue,
Started from scratch…
Filed under: WITH LOVE
Are You Still There
It seems like, timelessly happy, they are still there
Under the same linden tree, laughing their troubles away
Like they were here to burry those fossils everywhere
To prop the skies with the church towers, to plow the day…
I can still see their ages climbing afresh like a morning dew
Away from the trenches unleashing these hyper fairy tales
Under this shady linden tree nothing is old, nothing is new
These villagers are crossing from age to age, blazing
the trails…
Sometimes they shepherd in their barren pastures
some mysterious flocks
Sometimes they work their present from bad to even worse
Who can teach them to sing, or to throw the rocks?
They rode throughout history the same and only horse.
Who can teach them to dream through the short winter days
To carve their weddings to count their legends stone
by stone,
The stars aren’t that bright, they say, nowadays…
They used to be closer together, now they shine alone…
It seems like always they are seeping their glorious wine
While sharing their timelessness under the shady linden tree.
Are you still there, sweet villagers of mine?
Don’t get your nightingales through speech therapy!
At six in the morning
Sounds of some sad steps, somewhere on the sixth floor
A lot closer, a toilet flash and a baby’s cry
Somebody just slammed a door
So that nothing may be new beneath the sky…
Sleepy walks, shy whistlers, dead traffic lights
Honking horns, sidewalks, some gone astray dew,
A street sweeper smiles as she cleans the sights
Of that old yawning moon… the day is new…
As I walk alone, carving the streets on my palms
Smelling the fresh fumes and diesel fuel
I feel like laughing and jumping, reciting the Psalms
I wear this city, brothers, this is my jewel…
But as I move in prayers to start the day afresh
I see the city flowing to wash away my flesh!
Something at least
Everything seems to be in its place…
You buy at overprice a pound of dirt
One dog and one man share a pace
And keep each other aware and alert…
The butcher’s daughter is playing the flute
I dig a well somewhere in the skies…
Something, at least, should be quiet and smooth
Something, at least, should be nice!…
The baby’s cry tells you the real price of milk,
Two destinies crossed each other at the traffic lights
There must be a common place for heavy metal and silk
And smiles, and cries, and stones, and gigabytes…
There is a forest somewhere in The Milky Way,
With shady valleys and happy creeks
“You’re dreaming too much”, some will say,
But I am only seeing what my inmost seeks…
Yes, everything seems to be in its place,
The moments fly over my head.
I used to talk to them, face to face,
Before letting them go or move ahead…
I used to dig wells in the stormy skies,
Something at least should be nice!
