At the intersection

#7 At the intersection

I don’t like it easy
I’d rather wait for it to rain.
I’d rather break my watch
to forget my time.

Impressions a failing mind,
a faster heart,
imagining a shadow to fall
from a building so tall
that when it hits the ground,
I won’t be around.

But where will I be?
How long and how far?

I solve the cloud,
not the rain.
I will still be wet
in months of sunlight,
making faces at passing cars,
searching for a sound
that breaks my glass
and once again
I will extend my stay
at the intersection,
in a similar pattern of random memories.

Missing nothing

29^th April 2014

#6 Missing nothing

We were born without our names,
in our different worlds of dilemma.
We did not choose our surnames either,
we preferred to lie down and wait for the sun.
Then came the pride and obsolete sense
of belonging somewhere we never belonged to,
as if we own this language, these rituals of
translating our feelings into a pillow of moonlit
feathers and pretending to imitate life.
While life was ignoring everything we had,
taking us to a point where we don’t miss a thing,
anymore.

Repairing roads

6^th March 2014

#5 Repairing roads

Reset my forehead,
sequencing my inhibitions
of a daily life, smooth and consistent.
Preventing the mothballs
from turning into flying creatures
hiding behind sweaters,
winter is temporary
and so is my regret.
Repairing roads to nowhere
a busy street stares at the pendulum
waiting for gaps and breathing spaces,
the dogs need to sleep.

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.