Don’t go.
I want to watch you some more!
I want to pick you up,
whisper by whisper,
light by light, sadness by sadness
in my eyes rising towards you!
Don’t go.
I thirst for your lonely lips,
those lips with perfumes
of white lilac.
I thirst for your eyes,
hiding the sky in each caress
with which I’m embraced…
Stay…
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Broken shell
“Love is an infinite giving of yourself.” Then why do I feel like I’m begging for love? Why this enormous sadness of wanting in and being left outside? Why the tears and the pain? Why the pain? Is there a final purpose? Is there a threshold we need to pass so finally, someone can say: ok, you’ve hurt enough?
I feel like a broken shell, wore out by the sea. I feel like I’ve lived for thousands of years and touched all that I can. I feel like I have thrown myself in the waves, trusted in their battle, believed in their deepness, but I’m nowhere. Nobody can find me, I hear myself crying for a touch, but nobody hears me. There is too much noise in the world, touches don’t have feelings, lives don’t have an end, hearts don’t have miracles.
I want everything to shut up. I want peace and silence, I want to feel that I’m not broken, whole again in the eyes of an innocent child. Pick me up, I’ll give you softness and love, colors and laugh, light from thousands years ago. Can you hear me?
I feel like a broken shell, wore out by the sea. I feel like I’ve lived for thousands of years and touched all that I can. I feel like I have thrown myself in the waves, trusted in their battle, believed in their deepness, but I’m nowhere. Nobody can find me, I hear myself crying for a touch, but nobody hears me. There is too much noise in the world, touches don’t have feelings, lives don’t have an end, hearts don’t have miracles.
I want everything to shut up. I want peace and silence, I want to feel that I’m not broken, whole again in the eyes of an innocent child. Pick me up, I’ll give you softness and love, colors and laugh, light from thousands years ago. Can you hear me?
On many roads
On many roads, my traveling thought is looking for you.
Oh, that end of a day, covered in hurried rain drops!
In my garden, the flowers, wishing for other very high meadows,
are still calling for
your light without a trace.
Where you are today, I don’t know. None of the songs
found you. Today,
you are where you are. And I am here. The distance
has placed the Big Dipper between us,
the waters in valleys, the fire in the darkness on the hills,
and on the earth, it placed petals and pain
that don’t like daylight.
It closed as a gate. No sign can penetrate the emptiness,
the emptiness.
Oh, that end of a day, covered in hurried rain drops!
In my garden, the flowers, wishing for other very high meadows,
are still calling for
your light without a trace.
Where you are today, I don’t know. None of the songs
found you. Today,
you are where you are. And I am here. The distance
has placed the Big Dipper between us,
the waters in valleys, the fire in the darkness on the hills,
and on the earth, it placed petals and pain
that don’t like daylight.
It closed as a gate. No sign can penetrate the emptiness,
the emptiness.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
To you
To you, who taught me how to live,
how to discover light and fruits, joy and bitter pain,
and colors: the bright red of a rose, the yellow of an old autumn,
and the green from everywhere.
To you, who opened my heart towards knowing, and
let me see the light of your brother son.
To you, son of eternity, I give you… me.
how to discover light and fruits, joy and bitter pain,
and colors: the bright red of a rose, the yellow of an old autumn,
and the green from everywhere.
To you, who opened my heart towards knowing, and
let me see the light of your brother son.
To you, son of eternity, I give you… me.
Moments
Don’t ever say no to understanding. As long as you are in control of your mind and soul, don’t run away from understanding, because turning your back will only bring on the cry of a moment that has not been lived.
Do you know how hard the moments cry? They cry through us, but their voice comes from somewhere outside. The return of the moments within us… Unlived moments, moments left somewhere at the corner of a soul, left there because of too much indifference or too little courage and energy. There are moments left, thrown and deserted, constantly looking for a place where they can be loved.
Aren’t you afraid of the revolt of moments? You know, when the sky comes tumbling down on us, we will become moments and then, other people, like us, will throw us away, will leave us somewhere not wanting to live us.
Try to think how you would feel if you would not be lived. Constantly trying to find a place within a soul, looking for another moment to sit in its shadow and hope that you too will pass. Passed, not lived. Why not think and live life like you are the absolute moment, or maybe you are actually an hour, or a day?
You can be anything you want. You can be century; you can be someone’s unique moment. However, if you refuse understanding, if you don’t live your questions and don’t treasure your moments as they are your own absolute, you will remain just bitter and you won’t even be able to think of the happiness in the water from a rapid.
Do you know how hard the moments cry? They cry through us, but their voice comes from somewhere outside. The return of the moments within us… Unlived moments, moments left somewhere at the corner of a soul, left there because of too much indifference or too little courage and energy. There are moments left, thrown and deserted, constantly looking for a place where they can be loved.
Aren’t you afraid of the revolt of moments? You know, when the sky comes tumbling down on us, we will become moments and then, other people, like us, will throw us away, will leave us somewhere not wanting to live us.
Try to think how you would feel if you would not be lived. Constantly trying to find a place within a soul, looking for another moment to sit in its shadow and hope that you too will pass. Passed, not lived. Why not think and live life like you are the absolute moment, or maybe you are actually an hour, or a day?
You can be anything you want. You can be century; you can be someone’s unique moment. However, if you refuse understanding, if you don’t live your questions and don’t treasure your moments as they are your own absolute, you will remain just bitter and you won’t even be able to think of the happiness in the water from a rapid.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Dreaming?
Today I was dreaming. I know, it’s not a surprise, it’s not even breaking news. So, what? It’s me. I felt soft and light, my whole body was shivering for a touch. An overwhelming ray pulled me to brightness. I woke up and I was angry. I kept saying to myself: “it’s not true, life is experience and as long as you live you cannot fail.” I realized I was mad at Sartre. He said once: “the story of every life is the story of failure.” Wrong. If he would still be alive we would have had to argue about it. Maybe I could have shown him the wide opened eyes of my soul and he could have believed…
Today’s motto is: “Nothing I can touch from horizons is ever enough. I want everything allover again.” I feel like the sea. Oh, that didn’t convince you? It’s not clear? Good. There’s nothing clear about the sea. There’s deepness and color, struggle and foam, screaming and softens, light, sadness, but always strength, always returns and perseverance.
I have all these quotes in my head. Maybe if I write them down, I’ll feel relieved. “Life is a continuous run towards death.” How sad is that? How much can someone hurt to find no hope? And what is death, anyway? Why is it scary? Why do we let ourselves live in fear? Fear of what?
Today it rained on me. The rain drops opened their arm and took me in. Cool, crisp and welcoming. It smelled like home. Like coming home. I needed to feel the joy of returns, that daring feeling of invincibility. I thought of the smells from the past. My high school days, spending nights at the Black Sea, playing bridge, listening to Pink Floyd. Feeling misunderstood. Looking inside and wanting out.
We part ways,
I take tears, dreams and optimism,
I place my childhood in my arms
And walk forward…
Then, I will wonder whispering
I miss… I miss… I miss
Today’s motto is: “Nothing I can touch from horizons is ever enough. I want everything allover again.” I feel like the sea. Oh, that didn’t convince you? It’s not clear? Good. There’s nothing clear about the sea. There’s deepness and color, struggle and foam, screaming and softens, light, sadness, but always strength, always returns and perseverance.
I have all these quotes in my head. Maybe if I write them down, I’ll feel relieved. “Life is a continuous run towards death.” How sad is that? How much can someone hurt to find no hope? And what is death, anyway? Why is it scary? Why do we let ourselves live in fear? Fear of what?
Today it rained on me. The rain drops opened their arm and took me in. Cool, crisp and welcoming. It smelled like home. Like coming home. I needed to feel the joy of returns, that daring feeling of invincibility. I thought of the smells from the past. My high school days, spending nights at the Black Sea, playing bridge, listening to Pink Floyd. Feeling misunderstood. Looking inside and wanting out.
We part ways,
I take tears, dreams and optimism,
I place my childhood in my arms
And walk forward…
Then, I will wonder whispering
I miss… I miss… I miss
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Wings
I am a broken flight,
The undetermined music of two wings,
A naked step on a hot palm,
A smile lost in your laugh...
I am an open window ready for your dreams.
I wait for you on my white island,
wanting to lay my head in your hands.
You are the evening with teary eyes
crying for the clearness of the stars which tremble painfully inside me.
You are my whispers offered to you.
You are the spring with flowering hands, spreading apricot branches
in every window of my frightened eyes waiting for you.
You are the fiery breath of poppies in August, binding my storms
with so many sunrises for your love.
You are the open eye to the darkness of my soul.
Under your watch, my love,
the broken wings of my dreams are healed.
The undetermined music of two wings,
A naked step on a hot palm,
A smile lost in your laugh...
I am an open window ready for your dreams.
I wait for you on my white island,
wanting to lay my head in your hands.
You are the evening with teary eyes
crying for the clearness of the stars which tremble painfully inside me.
You are my whispers offered to you.
You are the spring with flowering hands, spreading apricot branches
in every window of my frightened eyes waiting for you.
You are the fiery breath of poppies in August, binding my storms
with so many sunrises for your love.
You are the open eye to the darkness of my soul.
Under your watch, my love,
the broken wings of my dreams are healed.
Light
The light generates from your eyes.
The light is your eyes when they seem to be made of dark oceans.
This light warms my body and it transforms it
into the flame of the beginnings.
You are the love of a land I dreamt about and did not find,
and then, I forgot I tried to find it.
You are the passion of love from a world, other than the one I live in,
a world I tried to find and you’ve helped me reach.
You are the stream of life, from you and from me and from something
too much from the beginning to be able to name it without
burning my lips.
Don’t ever go walking in a forest as bright as you, because you will overwhelm it.
You will create lava which will burn my soul together with those trees
next to which you liked to think you were.
But if you do, send yourself towards me so your passion will brighten my night,
and your light will be flowers growing from your palms when your arms
protect me.
The light is flames and struggles. The light is you.
You are so much light that I finally understand,
that intensity means flames, tear means struggle, light means you,
and “you” means light.
The light is your eyes when they seem to be made of dark oceans.
This light warms my body and it transforms it
into the flame of the beginnings.
You are the love of a land I dreamt about and did not find,
and then, I forgot I tried to find it.
You are the passion of love from a world, other than the one I live in,
a world I tried to find and you’ve helped me reach.
You are the stream of life, from you and from me and from something
too much from the beginning to be able to name it without
burning my lips.
Don’t ever go walking in a forest as bright as you, because you will overwhelm it.
You will create lava which will burn my soul together with those trees
next to which you liked to think you were.
But if you do, send yourself towards me so your passion will brighten my night,
and your light will be flowers growing from your palms when your arms
protect me.
The light is flames and struggles. The light is you.
You are so much light that I finally understand,
that intensity means flames, tear means struggle, light means you,
and “you” means light.
Why?
I don't really know... A good friend of mine said to me recently: "why don't you put this stuff on a blog?". "This stuff" is what's coming. It's a begining. It's exciting and somewhat challenging. It focuses energies. It shares. It creates. It's part of existing... oh, no, not existing, but experiencing.
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