With my silent sloppy words,
A web of form-meanings I wave.
With my fragile mortal fingers,
A shadow of you I create.
Caught in my own world,
Of spoken & unspoken, dreams, thoughts…
Lost in my imagination,
Forgetting I made it up all…
I- a curated collection,
Of misplace pasts, possible future,
- a chest to guard my made-up me’s,
Costumes of could be’s and I am’s.
I am not this body but I am greater,
I am the world itself that has a body.
I am no longer this shell,
I am the endless ocean.
I open my heart…
I wish my name to be engraved …
Not in stone but in the hearts of men,
The souls of those creatures that I know
And those that will soon come to be.
I wish my name to be remembered,
Not with fear but with love.
By those that do not know me,
And those who know who I was.
I wish my name to be spoken.
Not in shouts but whispers…
By those who abandon their names,
And look for another mirror.
My name cannot be spoken,
Nor write, babbled or remembered.
My name is empty and forbidden,
My name is yours, but you have forgotten.
The modern man has access to previously unimaginable amounts of information, but we cannot say he is well informed. The modern man has access to a vast amount of knowledge; however, we cannot say that he is wise. The modern man fools himself that he can know without experience and we find false preachers that talk not to enlight others but because they enjoy their voice sound.
They are like parrots. Give them a line, and they would repeat it, and even if in the beginning was the truth due to their foolishness through their repetition, they are going to…
Aeons I searched for my Beloved,
In the solitude of Siani.
Centuries I called the names,
Oceans my eyes wept…
When my voice left me,
My hands and feet too heavy,
I stopped summoning the old God.
I put on a cloth of darkness,
Wondered aimless in eternal night.
Between statues of dust and light,
Guarded by golden peacocks throned…
An old man with lost eyes.
-Take a seat, my dear friend,
Long you travelled and you shall rest.
Allow me to feed your heart and soul,
With an ancient forgotten song.
When the sun would light the night,
The smell of burned sugar slipped through the house. My mouth started watering. In a trance, I would see myself opening the kitchen door. My face hit by the delicious heat inside. Bowls, floor, and cracked eggs spread through the buffet. In a corner, under the pale yellowish light, my mother would skillfully flip pancakes in a worn-out pan. She would place the fresh one on a pile next to her.
I hastily opened one of the drawers searching for one of my grandmother’s house-made gems: cherry, quince, or apricots? All from the garden, she planted with my little sister…
“Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep it in the same place.”- Lewis Carroll (Through the looking glass)
Here you can either be a businessman or a philosopher. A businessman would see it as: keep running, and you better be fast. On the other side, a philosopher would reply: there is no point in doing so, after all nothing changes….
The Red Queen Principle- this is actually an evolution hypothesis by Leight Van Veller, and it says that all species are competing though an evolutionary perspective, and the faster you run, the better…
Only the masochists follow their heart,
For even a kiss can tear it apart.
A late kiss in the middle of the night,
Followed by an absent tomorrow,
A long kiss from your sweetheart,
But not to you, it was meant for another one.
A kiss offered without love,
A blizzard inside your soul.
The absence of a kiss,
After a long walk.
A kiss on the forehead,
It melts your heart.
A last kiss…
It’s hidden in your pocket,
the silver key to the mirror world
What are your fingers hunger for?
A gentle touch or passionate love…
Maybe, you want something different,
I can hear a stronger roar.
You want no lust, but a scent deeper,
You wish to belong…
A stone to polish your ego,
A door to a fantasy world,
A place for the fake I to roam
A safe house for you to go.
You want no soul mate.
That, would have been easy,
Stop, pick and adore.
You crave shivers, sprinkles,
something to keep away the soar.
Why do we engage in this crazy, mad, ancient ritual known as dating? Obviously: we want to meet someone, is fun, is cool, we haven’t got sex in a long time (…), we feel adventurous, we feel is time … and the list can go to infinity and beyond.
Where do we meet these strangers? At a party, in a bookshop, at work, in the subway, on Tinder, over a cup of coffee (or a glass of wine), at a concert, during a lecture, everywhere but never in our hearts…
How-the most important question? How do we meet our future…
Writer with the soul of a poet. I'm trying not to take myself too serious. Deeply grateful that I can share my thoughts & emotions with you.