One by one,
evanescent water-lilies
turn off their light and die
refusing to turn themselves in
to the endangered prayers of motherhood
and long forgotten nursery rhymes.
With me as a witness
it’s only a matter of time
until gravity
takes them down
to swallow their holly petal powder
heated for free
by the breath of the dying meteors
metamorphosed overnight
into unexpected, braveless withdrawals
and old-fashioned lullabies.
Anonymous passengers only
are allowed to reject my apologies
and step on the hollow ice.


restless tear rivers, drained of despair ,
running dry of emptiness
overflow the less privileged, careless lanes
out of my side, out of my heart
to my mind an arrow is much crueler than a bullet
like a strike of doubt which would go nowhere
like a seed of death impossible to outland
damaging everything in a merciless impact game
we sleep in the same bed with our errors
recycle old wax candles to make new ones
hoping that darkness disappears at night
when its invisibility becomes the perfect camouflage
so underestimated, so overrated, yet so devoid of pride
invading our privacy like evil spirits, like wild heathens
unaware of any human feelings and rights
mournings blend with our fears and sorrows
becoming their own flesh and blood
we get blind in the presence of too much light
I only wish they had imprisoned us for lying
right then and there - in this way
we’d share our hopes with our contemporary
instead of burying them away.


Confessions to a Valent Eye

Everything ‘s sacred
unless you close your eyes
The clouds are guardian angels in disguise
the falling stars – my unbreakable vows to you
cascading over a flawless past like a Jurnip interlude.
Awakeness makes promises - unlike rules – easy to keep,
pampered and cuddled in this honesty excess
whose warranty assures unique reliability
provided the way “I love you” is not a cliché;
Thanks to your Guinness -Book -worth fidelity
there are no side effects, no expiration date
and no returning options on this delivery ;
like a translator
mastering a catalyst stream of cathartic metaphors
hidden behind their undeniably therapeutic scent
I am not a traitor if I let my own senses intervene
demanding them to stay unquoted on each continent.
I reserved the right to imperfection,
the prerogative to disappoint you
long ago
when the Hegelian seeds of contradiction
were planted by the ocean’s shore.
While synchronizing the time in both our world zones ,
I am converting some insufficient minerals and unpolished secrets
into Valentine precious stones.