Love is a scary thing

Because love is always teaching you something new
And learning so fast, and going so far.. beyond
is thrilling, ecstatic and fucking scary at the same time.

Love is jumping into nothingness
Over and over
Until you learn to fall
And falling completely
you will learn to fly.

Give up!

Life is a Dance in The Rain III - by borda 

(Click pt link-ul de deviant)

Find me!

I'll just stop now 

at the edge of you 

foolishly trusting 

the wind to push me 

to my death. 

ghost of my lovers past 

prolonged shadow of future sins 

calling, beckoning, like endless 

echoes in a cold and misty wood. 

am I a formless voice too? 

am I a stranger to my own  

pathetic attempt!? 

is my point of view  

an eternal trap..? 

Forget about me!

Meeting at the end of the world

I met a girl at the end of a season.
Snow started to fall a few days after.
Few times I've seen her eyes.
Fewer songs I've heard been sung,
lately.. ain't nobody got time fo that.

Even my poetry is lame.
And I find myself not
in the mood to rearticulate.
I feel as if all the framework
is falling apart.

Days and nights and
temptations hold
little and littler
power.

Snow will fall and so will I.
Remembering things in my own way.
Forgetting them together with you.

Maybe now, time is not so much about learning
as it is about forgetting.

Forgetting frameworks.
Falling.
Breaking.
Pleasing none.

Scattering across the endless wastes of now
the boundless substance that is life.

My life

The people that I love
 I owe everything to.
For them I shall turn the world.

And to some of them,
 I owe even more than that.
For them, I shall accept it all.


For one of the most.
As fi pus o poza, ar fi fost una cu o imbratisare, care aflandu-se undeva deasupra lucrurilor ce pot exista, are puterea sa iti distruga lumea, daca te pierzi in ea. Sau daca te regasesti..

2 fete pe care le iubesc

Akiane

I consider myself good most of the times
but when I see you, my soul is purified
my vision is cleared and my heart breathes
like never before.

To dedicate myself to Awe
is all I can do
in honor of your greatness.

Being yourself is the most wonderful thing you did for the world, and us humans, who strive to be someone else.
Cries of our shattered image tear down the boundaries of time and space – when mirrored in your clear potential.

I can only dedicate myself to Awe.

Ea este Akiane http://akiane.com/home.html cel mai tanar copil prodigy in doua domenii la 8 ani (poezie si pictura realista) din toata istoria documentata. Consider ca din punct de vedere al artei, omenirea a trecut printr-o perioada grea, intunecata, ca un fel de evul mediu contemporan, si in tot acest timp am uitat ce bucurie produce arta frumoasa. Poate ca e momentul sa ne amintim.

(vai deci pana cand gasesc poezia morrrr... stai sa vezi ca e in al trei-lea loc in care voi cauta!) (a fost in al 3+2lea loc in care am cautat pana la urma.. karma asta..)

Iar.. urmatoarea este doar pentru mine sa o stiu.

Se numeşte... hmm..

Cea cu temă Chironiana

Să te ridici de pe pământ
Să mă laşi să-ţi cânt
Şi să te înalţi. Stai drept!
Tu să râzi şi eu să-ţi zic
Priveşte-mă în ochi
când îţi spun -Să sari!
Curaj! Un salt!
Apoi să cazi.. la mine în braţe.

De fapt chiar poţi să zbori
Nu te-am minţit. Hai, că te-am prins.
Altă dată un braţ măcar să-l ai întins
Şi te voi ţine eu de cealaltă aripă.

Iar când, lin îţi va fi zborul
Şi cântul meu în depărtare
Am să rog atunci, Aerul
Să-mi poarte dorul,
Pe sub aripile tale.

29.12.2010

To write about

Before the dawn I work my brain
to rhyme a little poem, plain,
and simple, to understand,
but still, I recommend,
a little bit,
of your attention.

For I, would like to mention,
and indeed, put into question,
to be whirled and twirled,
to be thought and learned,
taught about and spoken!
When listened to,
tears to drop and
promises be broken,
that one.. that you will find
in every corner of your mind,
from which there is nowhere to hide,
not away in deep forests, nor left, or right.
And not in the safety of your home,
It is the one thing which is known
but can not be heard, be seen, or shown.

It exists, but it is not observed.
It is perceived, but without ever
coming into existence.

Thou it lingers on the very margins of your brain
eagerly awaiting to leave the tip of your tongue
tickling the edges of your lips,
Do not hurry IT, to think about
or feel or even speak!
Cause at the slightest movement of consciousness
and intent of any kind of action,
be it subtle, brash,
detached or trembling with passion,
there is nothing more..
to love, to feel, to suffer about
to ponder silently or speak out loud,
or put into question,
and indeed,
there is nothing more to mention.

Thank you for your attention!



For Hannah :)

The Dove Of War

Whispers of change, whispers of freedom…
Through the shouts of ignorance,
And the rumble of selfishness,
They are heard.

And so it comes on the winds
And begins, as it lowers it’s wings,
To plant the seed of destruction.
It is The Dove Of War
And thus it sings:

“Live by day and die by night.
To be born each day,
And to forget each night.
To live without knowing you’ll die
To meet death without ever knowing life.

Hardship, suffering and tragedy,
Like the next morning they will arrive.
Until you learn to live not just for one day,
And die not only for one night.”

Now as the fruits of war ripe
in the heat of the burning houses,
In the sound of gun shots,
Echoing the empty streets,
Telling stories of mass executions.
And as the piles grow in height,
Of pink cadavers, of the children gassed tonight,

It takes off.. For another flight.
The Dove of living by day
And dying by night.
And as the ashes cool - it leaves behind,

Faint whisper of ignorance, heard on the site
Through shouts of freedom,
And the rumble of change,
As the people sing and rise and turn another page.

“Here we are, the dead of all times,
dying once again, but now to live!”
(The Zapatistas – 1994)


Writen in Bremen on the Volksbund Camp

Unmoved

Poems written on your lovely corps..
Through the bite marks made by the little teeth
of the rats, in your tender rotten meat,
I see the detrivore worms, jolly and awkward...

And I don't understand you!

How can you stay like this while
so many truths rumble inside your skin?

Maybe sometimes when I sleep,
in the stench of death,
dripped from your dry veins,
While I hold you, and kiss
your empty eye sockets,

I will find out.
And then stay,
as you do, unmoved.