A visit to a friend
I’ve come to you like coffee.
My soul is heavy with the rain,
It’s leaving fleeting traces on your chair.
I’ve come to you like a cigar
A moment we remain hanging in the smoke
As dreaming bubbles above this world….
Please play the purifying music
Of those times when we’ve been conceived -
And I’ll be back to you at midnight -
A melody you can’t get out of your mind.
Kiss me and I’ll look into
The blue embracing gently
Air, houses and birds.
Like that, we have embraced us in the time –
It’s time to lay the bed for us.
After all that useless sins
Do you feel the soul rising shamelessly?
Ice nails are winking by the eyes
Like stars in unseen churches.
The wind is flashing over the dark skin.
A current pierces me to the bones, I feel like crying…
The stars are glowing scales
Left of us
Over the dark skin of night.
Beyond my strength
Why have I laughed at what
Today I swear by.
Why have I raised you,
City of my dreams, so high,
My small home withers in the shadow?
I long for growing in a tree
To break your cruel castles up.
The table’s staying with the cloth in white.
A woman having waited for the host all night.
The cigarette-hole’s showing rotten wood.
The hollow’s picking up the crumbs,
It will be, it won’t be –
The sparrow’s pecking them.
I’ve lost the beads,
They’ve rolled to somewhere.
I wonder if the sparrow’s children have been sated with
The bread of hope.
Every bright creation is a hard dream today.
As if unseen magic’s pulling the wires
But when we step in – it takes to its heels.
As if we’ve been living for a long time -
Yet a second has been tickling us.
You actually exist – why can’t I kiss you?
I mixed together soap with water
And started to recall –
A bubble fat and warm like Mother,
Another one stiff, firm like Father;
One for the pure solace that is called Friend,
One multiform like Love.
They piled together – a balloon
As big as God Himself.
Through it I looked upon the motley world –
I was about to see
Illusions in the sundown,
The motion in the eye’s periphery becoming true…
But better so be it – unfinished,
Born from an artist’s hand –
With a feeling of something lived not to the end,
That is to stay even after body –
A dream with which it’s lightly for the soul to kiss
And gently to step over.