Muddy

12^th February 2014

#3 Muddy

It’s a myth, only a lie

I want myself to believe in.
I believe in goodbyes –
the sweetest ones,
rolled into evenings of
parallel music and silence.
Could not come or wait for
whistles of the celebration.

It’s a muddy road to avoid,
lost in painted slippery sidewalks,
easy to remove my face
from everything I love,
I invent my sense of existence
in numbers and proofs of my residence.

Detective

#2 Detective

We thought you were dead
until they made us laugh at your joke,
you should not have done this.

You should have smiled ,
you should have left us a note -
telling us about this situation
after all we were all in the same boat,
a boat that floats in confidence
and sinks when you are over popular.

Now that the corpse has turned
and the shovels speak of an empty grave,
you have to explain the miracle,
we were born to believe.

He was supposed to

8^th February 2014

#1 He was supposed to

He was supposed to leave
a trace for every face in the crowd,
to believe in backward pundit lines,
like zebras on the pavement
gazing at policemen of the traffic.

He was supposed to linger,
coffee flavour in her mouth
reminding her of chocolates,
midnight craving for melody bites,
the usual and the optimistic.

He was supposed to position
himself between her eyes,
get shot from a distant bullet,
die from a different wound -
someone else’s pain
in a translated world of confusion.