Absent Indifference

turning a blind eye and a deaf ear
to the half - treated sympthoms of the new year
another paradox mirror
x-rayed by compulsive retrospection:
invisible, reminiscent yet self-absorbed.
Some say a bitten apple ‘ s hardly a clue
neither ladylike, nor safe to keep
though so well-hidden
from thorn birds and tactile myths
Some may think
that memory games and geography and countdowns
can add some beauty to my sleep
to quench one’s thirst you need more than a drip
rain comes and goes but there are rainbows in store
all labelled and approved
since you left no one’s been misunderstood
or steady as a rock while rolling like a stone
to explain the sand on the floor,
the pearl oysters, the willow roots and the fjords
One might need a map of my early childhood .



We are not alone
In the shade of the leafless
Chestnut silhouettes and blue birds
listening to the wavening voice
of parting winters and springs;
We should become our future not our past
Farewells are carved
not tattooed
on a stamped piece of dream,
too much light can make some men go blind
too much supernatural can make you lose your mind
a wave is enough to crush the flame
but saying “good bye” is not taught in the first grade;
Candles don't just paint shadows
through the darkness of night
they mostly guide the departed to puzzle out their pride;
We are not alone - only lonely and blind
our quest is no longer a triumph
but a truce, a self-sabotage.
Why looking for answers you already know?
Why looking for answers?
All the paths have already been chosen and marked
It’s time to go when it’s time to go.
You can only close the eyes that are open
Leave’em after the pact has been broken.



betrayed by unexpected fallings
the explanation container
transformed itself
almost overnight
into a vertically floating pile
of creative light.
Unavailable, allied timpans,
disappointed of living « la vie en rouge »
are taking refuge again and again
from the intricate music notes
of a last soothing song,
from all broken, artificial thoughts
planted in my brain.
Barefoot and empty handed
you are welcoming me
like some postponed S.O.S.
Delayed by the natural conspiracy
Of deliberate gravity.


Nocturnal Senses

What I can smell is the candlelight shadows
flickering inside
a frame of unsleeping memoirs
into tiny whispers anchored on native banks
right before the wide floods of dawn.
What I can see is moon shadowed graveyards
where springs smell like autumn
housing the dying for free
fallen into freedom
lying there heartcuffed, half - frozen
while omitting the truth of slavery.
What I can touch is the eternal rehearshal
the decisive inspiration of an echo scene
pursuing the blooddrop trail
with the soft vowels of blame
burning the landscape
cursing the flames and leaving the living
intoxicated with darkness and shame.
What I could miss is having no time to breathe
begging for any forgiven dusk
searching for the last tide
like an insane hide-and-seeker
only with dead fingers and nails
devoured by the salty sands of a rocky haven.


Clandestine longing

''Confessions are forbidden today.''
That’s what you told me yesterday
as well.
''What can I hope ?'' – you could be asked
If only …
If I didn’t know
a night of craving is between
and trading dreams for recollections
is a sin
in your eyes …caught inside
these motionless hours and spaces
haunted by empty shadows
repenting both sunshine and moonlight
lacking solemn pledges the shape of a heart.
As we speak I am searching
through the dustbin of life
for some thrown-away celebrations
To adopt and adapt.