Maybe I came late

Maybe I came late.

Go…

You stopped getting satisfaction on me
Go! …
What has remained
stream …
from your shallows,
to my depths

Our “Milky”
does not heat
Ember was extinguished
by silence…

Late letter

How are you?

As a eyelid
fallen from yearning
in my eyes
where your sight is still burning
I saw you in a dream last night …

Once you were lured with my anxieties
my premonitions,
when liberated your frozen loneliness
because of the instant grief,
while migrating
on your ways
with quick returns …

Traveler
if your road falls once again from me,
don’t bother my roar of waiting…

 

I feel..

I feel you are waiting for me
In the daily train
Seated in the same place
Looking out the window
To hear my step
That comes tearing
full of anxiety
to you

You feel that I am coming
Breathless
Waiting at the station
To find the train
Where are you sitting

SURVIVAL

The bus going round the city’s ring

Stinks…

The air strolls up and down among us,

Running into old holes

And breaches

And evil seats

Standing back to back.

The air

Moves in the opposite direction,

Rising high

Above our heads,

Reaching our unfiltered noses,

To provide us with the opportunity

Of survival…

I keep on going round the city’s ring for many days.

The same air…

Like that of the nightfall

When the day turns into a swindle,

Or like that of the dawn

Sitting besides a disordered bed

Looking at the windows that have never been opened

It’s 1001 days and nights now we’ve had no rain

The air has begun to stink,

And we have nothing else

To live on

Once

Once

I was a bird
For you
I flew from heights
to be closed
in your cage

Now, you say

 “You are free, run away …”

What to do with my freedom
without arms?
Now
I’m afraid to fly …

 

This year, in winter

All the winter 
this year
I locked myself
in the house
jamming 
as a naughty child
I enjoyed the snow,
toasted bread on the coals;

All the winter this year
I laughed with myself
as ever
I inflated sleeping
and I left my room cluttered 

This year,
neither frost did not fall into my house
I played dice
with the feeling
incidentally found
into the ashbin 
Now, I keep wearing another life,
full of hint

This winter I threw the fate
gambling
to enjoy what life brings

Grumpy day

All the day I have been following the gruff 

until darkness brought me to this shelter

that keeps my smell
I come back

betrayed
after a losing battle with myself

A day full of mistakes

still standing
healing my wounds

with loneliness

that awaits me with open arms
frigid
I slam the door

tightly
to let my grumpy out
Tomorrow I will be lucky
When the sun in my window will see

FOREBODING

On my body, a tree with broken branches,

Birds of withered feathers build their nests.

I myself am a trunk bent with hallows,

Expecting with fear to fall down at any moment.

Maybe I came late…

Maybe I came late…
to your disintegrated nest,
risen
on the bulked tree
without roots.
The early migrants
have taken what they have found
what they could
from your bed
of a revolutionary man.
When I arrived
I only found dried flowers
and a snail
that was creeping
to stain me,
so it can swallow
the silken moment
that I knitted
with the light rain
of February
to raise again
your nest
without a bird’s song