Sunday, March 29, 2015

My ship is sailing slow

Back to motherland
My ship is sailing slow

White hands reaching for cold beer
I envelop my heart in a red woolen shawl

Silence and little flower gardens
My ship is sailing slow

O Motherland, kiss my cheeks
My thoughts are lost and low

A little sparrow sings for me
A song  I don't remember or
Maybe do not know

Thursday, March 19, 2015


O rain, wash my eyes and my cheeks
My skin is dried and brittle
The heat of my heart fuels my thirst
O, do not watch me stand here
A flower in a desert of flowers
Falling into ruins, slowly and certain
Quench me with your body of tears
A gift of the moon to the sun to the stars
A church of several thousand partings
I look at its canvas and remember
Something that has been
Parting before

A reflection of shadows

Then we enter the most romantic part of town
Side by side carefully keeping distance
Once we bumped, at the turn
Into a small excuse
I wonder where do they store statues
When facades need a fresh layer
Under us the river painted in rush
Under ancient bricks
Everything a reflection of shadows
I feel obliged to drink
Dirty water makes me think about consistencies
Is there a deeper layer
Let’s not talk, all that needs to be said
Can be said in silence

Comes alive

For I should be wandering and exploring
Moving the curtain, the neighbour’s
House in glaring sun, my eyes
Not used to such intensity
I don’t know who lives in this part of town
Remembering night walks
Bridges and mountains
Ocean sunsets, foreign faces
Melodies behind closed eyes
Painting my inner canvas
Everything comes alive
While I am old and dying

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

I Was Dead, Then Alive – Rumi

I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.

He said, ‘You’re not mad enough.
You don’t belong in this house.’

I went wild and had to be tied up.
He said, ‘Still not wild enough
to stay with us!’

I broke through another layer
into joyfulness.

He said, ‘Its not enough.’
I died.

He said, ‘You are a clever little man,
full of fantasy and doubting.’

I plucked out my feathers and became a fool.
He said, ‘Now you are the candle
for this assembly.’

But I’m no candle. Look!
I’m scattered smoke

He said, ‘You are the Sheikh, the guide.’
But I’m not a teacher. I have no power.

He said, ‘You already have wings.
I cannot give you wings.’

But I wanted his wings.
I felt like some flightless chicken.

Then new events said to me,
‘Don’t move. A sublime generosity is
coming towards you.’

And old love said, ‘Stay with me.’
I said, ‘I will.’

You are the fountain of the sun’s light.
I am a willow shadow on the ground.
You make my raggedness silky.

The soul at dawn is like darkened water
that slowly begins to say Thank you, thank you.

Then at sunset, again, Venus gradually
Changes into the moon and then the whole nightsky.

This comes of smiling back
at your smile.

The chess master says nothing,
other than moving the silent chess piece.

That I am part of the ploys
of this game makes me
amazingly happy.

Monday, March 02, 2015

Creating tomorrow's yesteryears

What I remember most
Is the smile in your eyes
Creating tomorrow’s yesteryears
Who cares about timelines
And paper presentations
When we can go for boat rides
And cave explorations

The world is a giant pond
In the middle of an ocean
Made of dreams and golden temples
We search for shelter
When rain pours into our sleep

From rooftops we watch the morning sun
Rising silhouettes, mountains
We share everything
The blink of an eye
Colourful moments
Remains of a whisper
Hazy memories