… In this confused world, of love and hate.
The struggle of wars --political and faith. There I
can’t honor, I can’t seem to seek the truth. Only
written in my soul. Guided by the Lord of winds,
where I sleep and where I eat –safely and silent can be …
I lay my breath at rest, it must be You.
You who rocked me, as unknown motherhood.
Mostly I draw you like an Angel, without the myth
wings. Without that glow they supposed to have.
With a smile –everlasting. Surrounded by clouds and golden,
locks given by daylight. No, that wouldn’t be fair.
I have to pencil You, between the unwritten
lines. I have to give you, eyes of words. So you shall speak,
when I cannot. And you know, I am not deaf. Nor blind.
I have to give you a skin, with dew all over it, as classical you remain.
Though words come and go, similar like friends join and die.
The face of the earth, fades in and out. The oceans I cried,
I tried to be the tide. I hided myself within the depths – the dark
blue house. Underneath that salty line. Yet, I carry Your
tenderness inside. And still I let myself be wounded by
your sweetness, the Rose you are.
I love your thorns, how they cut my skin and
make me see, I am human – I do can bleed.
A texture a mixture such a difference, it makes my
tongue unravel and fall back into a knot.
(I ask myself the same questions without getting the
answers, but profoundly knowing them inside my stomach.)
At night I place my heart beside me. I listen to its beat.
The smooth sounds it makes. I fall asleep.
Yet in the morning, all I feel is the empty spot next,
where I laid you –the layer of dreams. And as I
entwine with the world, just see the beauty of It. To feel the
seed It gives me, to forget my hunger and just eat.
The taste is bitter, the surface is raw.
Confused it makes me. Political and Faith. I can’t seem
to breathe normally, the air is too thin. The sun too bright.
The birds are singing to high. The flowers blooming
too gay. And all I can say is the nothingness of being
tormented without any reason to be so.
And as I move forward, through the
clouded day, following drops of poetry,
I notice You are not my breast, not my mouth,
not my thighs, not my legs, my feet, my world of despair.
You are three times my kiss, good bye …