Sunday, March 27, 2016

Night
Rain held it's breath
spread across earth
Hot, lusty, steamy
Earth made love
with every drop
Till the morning
caught fire...

Sunday, December 9, 2012

butterflies' war

I am being chased by butterflies. The nights are infested with moths, dragonflies and beautiful butterflies. The sleep was like a finely composed photograph. I always love to take photos with some greenery in them. In this frame, there is a branch of a small tree with yellow green leaves, flowers and butterflies and I love them usually. But in here they look absolutely mean, looking straight at my eyes with some sort of a judgment. What are they needed from me? The colors I took them for my poems? The fluttering movements copied or their soul I kept in that crystal pendent, when I was so little? I don’t really know and they are not explaining. They are just there - flying endlessly and aimlessly inside the walls of my sleep, from one branch to another, from one frame to another.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Photocopy

Last night
My son told me, I am your photocopy

Stunned, it was a revelation
A thought, memory

Am I a copy of my father?
His pains, loneliness
Abstract philosophies

He must be a copy too, of
An ancient past
A forlorn town
Words of an old type writer

In time
I merge into him
Giving
My soul

An old pen
A Camera
Some words
A blood type

To my son

Last night
My son told me, I am your photocopy

Monday, September 24, 2012

The
Night was young
When I was awake...

But not anymore…

Thursday, September 13, 2012

After the rain

A sheep grabbed the grass
from the clouds