instantly deleted news,
so Sisyphean, so short lived,
nothing sweet about  a forbidden fruit;
some hearts are simply meant for the recycle bin.

Informed Anticipation (tanka poems)

A concrete painting,
Low cheering echoes downtown
So impeccable
October weather for all
Come, breathe the rain in London!

Few black bowler hats
 Hidden behind umbrellas
No blurred lines
The horizon is my map
If you wait, then I’ll be back.


Selfish Confession

This is about my happiness disguised in the middle of the people around me, in the million simple blessings of my own existence …teaching me to love, guiding my way, breathing life into my dreams.
I find other people’s love and friendship inspiring. I find immense joy in every smile, incommensurable hope in every wish, undying faith in every invisible bond with those sharing a part of my soul. Forever. Nobody ever leaves my heart. Once in there, they get permanent ownership rights. Though they are free to go away if/whenever they please, they are always welcome to stay or come back. Their presence is forever cherished, their roles are greatly acknowledged, their memory lives on…and on.
I am so grateful. For every special person crossing my path, for every positive thought they generate in my mind, for every sublime feeling that lights away the darkness, unburdens the heaviness inside and heals my pains.

I’ve learned that my inner balance, self-confidence and life wholeness depend on my relationships: my most valued gifts, my peace, my growth, my becoming into a hopefully better person… I owe the better side of me to each single friendship, to its genuineness and its uniqueness which, through kindness, generosity, sweetness, devotion and love, makes my own journey worthwhile.
In truth, I would be lost without you. I would be nothing without you. So, THANK YOU!


A Fantasy

Fire-lit windows staring outside 
A stranger hugging a carol-singer 
Next to the street light, 
Tinsel and mistletoe everywhere
A new Christmas Eve for each Adam 
Snowing hours for the  kissing 
Youthful and gloveless. 

Transylvanian Ballad

in the midst of night,
at the quiet bottom
of the lonesome mountain,
dropped from the wings
of the gentle breeze,
a barn owl’s hoot
stabs the thick darkness
right through its heart
the way a sharp lightening
hits the frozen ground
in the late of autumn.
unheard infant’s shrieks,
all numbed and forgotten,
haunt the whereabouts
of the missing hound
lured by scents of blood
from the greenwood sight
vanished like a cloud
when the storm is done
no trace to be found,
never found alive
later than his wanderings.
from a safe distance,
the moon-howling echoes
give a piercing notice
of the new life’s courses
secretly bestowing
the surmised return
of the sleepless hunter
with a deadly  thirst
from his awful curses.  
in front of his temples
seduced by his flare
the two rowing columns
of young, silent pines
lean down, one-by-one
in a pitch-black courtesy
with the pristine heath
following behind him.
the long pebble trail,
overgrown and cold,
covered in his scent
and the pine needles
urge my hasty steps
to the same old place
of  no real escape
and decrepit home
to the savage folks
who had their own souls
forever estranged.
what is more, once more,
he’ll refuse to grow old
and from time to time,
dry cries will be born 

in his Carpathian castle,
summoned by the flesh,

induced by flash floods.
hereby, at his doorstep,
his long-denied burning,
all his broken trust,
wicked games of lust,
caged inside this fortress,
the pretend death coffin,
whose transparent vault
both quenches and chains
my loyal persistence
with the fatal promise
of eternal love,
are fully accepted.
any day or night now,
free from the past drought,
with the worst  of both
tempted by desire,
in this sinful dungeon
a cold, ivory sharpness
much older than fire,
will enable fate
to redeem the best
of our damned romance,
and its preordained,
much too vain existence
up the mountain top.



                                                                          “I shall drink from thy holly springs”

Voluptuous immortals,
Go and behold them, in the dark forest,
Moon-bathing their marble skin,
Pagan maidens, dancing in circles,
Burning the grass, the leaves,
The ground under the soles of their feet
Their fair hair blowing with the night wind.
O, virgin fairies, who haunt  away my sleep,
Come, grant a count his ultimate wish!
So soon, your burning silhouettes shall cross
These rocky slopes to quench my thirst.
Your eyes by my eyes have been cursed,
They are my candles now- ready to spread
Their undying, whispering oaths around.
My kiss is able to cleave the deep darkness
into thin slices of silence and painless tears,
Your spirit is about  to split the murmur of living
into legible birthmarks and heart poetry.
Have no fear, the thirsty moors and arid marshes
Won't reclaim the dead’s autumnal wake
They too absorb your youth and faith,
and drown your prayers in their swamps,
but turn your earthly nightmares into hope
so that, tomorrow, a crimson ritual of love
shall be performed inside our timeless souls.http://evngentertainment.blogspot.ro/

Autumnal Promise

Black clouds spread  their color
to erase the scents of a scarlet hour
and remove the streaks of dim light
infesting a dreary horizon.
A dark cape of wretched velvet
falls down, suddenly, as if dropped
from the sky, by an invisible hand,
to restore an eerie respite
to the fir-trees and pines of the forest.
A short while before each storm,
the village dogs stop barking
their silence brings about  the wind
to avert  the cursed ramblings
of a lost shadow, abandoned
for her gods’own sake
by some wholly devoted followers.
On the edge of her upmost fears-
A sinister climax is reached;
A deafening voice, as loud as thunder,
takes over her hearing:
Come to me, you were cursed
to pursue  the scent of my dreams!”
Then, no more to be heard until
the midnight hour sharpens her ears
and a majestic castle emerges
out of the bleak coldness.
Tranquil steps follow her inside,
His face is white, his smile - angelic
The confidence of his expression
and his imposing, magical presence 
appeal to her spirit and her senses
making her spellbound and weak.
The wilderness of her heart’s past
is left outside with the wolf pack.
Inside, without any secrets or sins,
a paradise of timeless afterlife,
of old tunnels, passages and crypts
will be their future haven to abide.
No earthly tortures any more,
nor being forsaken or betrayed
by your own flesh and blood.
She’ll be all: princess, lover and bride
To her new master.
Though craving for daylight at times
From under the still gravestones
She’ll have love and his everlasting vows
By her side, as her own, as his only
throughout  the coming centuries,
his portrait painted in crimson shades,
on each chamber of her heart or her home,
the ruined cavern is her native place now
by choice, not to terror or blaze
but to live above the regrets,
of those unworthy counts or countesses,
and their shallow, larger-than-life distress.
The only light allowed - the red moon
masking the shed of blood with pale grace
The only music - the rattling steel chains
Her sole verity- his eternal love 
and tender kisses shared inside the vault.