Undeserved Deserts

Curses come home to root,
To exorcise
taboos and all the exotic blasphemies,
Candle blazes on distant trails -
Living behind a sandy landscape
With no souvenirs - just another escapee guess
bearing some vandalized tundra
in an old chest
with sacrilegious graffiti,
Like an oasis puzzle of rainfall dominoes!
Unrecognizable minds
still reside
inside timeless pride coffins
Whose shelters are the dried,
half down,
alienated seeds of fall,
Past deeds - more accurate self odes
than dilemmas in a kaleidoscope paradise
Polished and spoiled
with both sympathy and revival verve,
Against the alternative,
organic canvas,
Right in front of the beholder’s eyes.


Diluted Dilusions

You fret and fume about almost nothing
these days
You keep my eyesight short
I- for a change - empty the hours
From the prejudice bowls
And egregious blunder grandeur;
Regrets are only indicative
Like pay back times
On the brink of an out-of-order grave
broken and dug again
from scratch
A self-propelled wing
Deviated by the presence of a finish line
Makes up proverbs about deer footprints,
mistletoe and honeycombs
There's no more room for letting down.


Void Exposure

Miracles are fate playing mind games on us
Brain parasites feeding on memories
are mistaken prisoners
Taken on a departure lounge;
My past - just a nearby shop window
with no dutyfree hopes
I used to cry only on frozen shoulders
Now I am used to
knowing how I must feel
how long it will take to be completely healed
It’s like I am having a transparent chest
And didn’t know it.
First times are always betrayed by the seconds,
the thirds don’t even matter in time-
We make daily confessions to the deafening omens,
Those we have sinned against
instigated by pride;
We can embrace those who are already loved
and fail to predict their last hugs!
Surrounded by mirrored walls,
guarded by indifference shields,
chaperoned by tears,
Is it because love is never enough
to synchronize
the pace of a heart?
Or because we are born already blind
and there are no soul mates out there to cure our sight?
I assume we just reinvent ourselves too many times
to the point where we become chameleons
Too much brevity, too little bravery
An autobiography of celebrations and commemorations
Like an affection slavery chain
Chewing and swallowing our own words,
their ashes’ ashes - my inner squashed outside
Still missing the recurrent fever
of spring bloom,
the absurdity of my paradoxes,
the breathing rhythmics of a crowded room;
We start a new life every morning.