I look out the window.
A plain landscape I see there
Is full of some peculiar aesthetics.
I look at it, thinking,
The goal is to be a butterfly,
Not a cockroach in the eyes of God.
The goal is to enjoy what is given,
And not to crave for.
Good usually comes by unnoticed,
Evil is always talked about.
Your life is an image
In the book of the Universe,
The goal is to come by unnoticed.
No matter what the reward is,
Guilt is heavier than magnanimity.
Fighting is not about blood,
Striving is not about vengeance,
Life is not about being black-hearted.
Your life is a tiny world
Inside the giant monster.
Turn this monster into a well-doer
By showing it your own generosity,
And it will give you someone to estimate
Your shape and your aesthetics.
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 4:38 AM UTC
All our lives, we lose.
It is as natural, as living itself.
Losing a ticket you bought
to see a ballet performance
is saving you from its ugliness,
disappointment, squalor.
Losing a chance to see your beloved
is keeping you both from a fracas.
Every loss comes by with an undertone.
Existence itself is losing,
hour by hour, minute by minute
you lose your time, your life,
your organism.
What is it that's keeping us all here?
Isn't it simply a fear?
We cannot believe this world will stand,
years after years, centuries after centuries, without us.
This fear is what makes us human,
and losing is what makes us alive.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 6:10 AM UTC
I look at you.
No one is more beautiful just because no one can replicate you,
copy you, be the way you are.
Your golden hair, your little pinky mouth may seem something of commonness, but your eyes contain such an inner sense no one is able to possess.
I love you. I've never met you, seen you or touched you, but I feel every inch of you
as if you were close to me, as if you were here.
The way you sing,
the way you move & smile makes me tremble every time I think of you.
You're the sunshine; the one I can never reach, the one I can never resist to admire.
Were you right next to me, maybe that inner beauty would have disappeared? Maybe you'd turn into an ordinary human being.
We'll never know.
I prefer you to stay this far from me, far enough to save that mystique of yours, that inner peculiarity & angelic essence.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 5:30 AM UTC
You look at the star. It is smiling,
dancing in the sky. Romeo & Juliette,
Jack & Rose—looks like every story
repeats itself in some certain way.
The sky,
who's been chewing clouds
all day long, is now full
of these shining, gilded little creatures.
They'll show you the way,
they will guide you to your Juliette
waiting for you in her own Verona.
A shooting star is falling down,
breaking, screaming, striving—make a wish!
Juliette is far away, Rosaline is standing
right next to you, blushing in her pure glamor.
Her lips are two petals calling your name.
Romeo! Estimate her beauty,
since it is something you can reach
at this very moment.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 5:29 AM UTC
To chose and be chosen,
These two never go together.
To love and be loved,
It's either fantastical or impossible.
We are victims of this nature balance
Watching from the above,
Making laugh of us.
Everything happens because of fate,
Or because of God,
We can never run our destinies.
A human heart is a sponge,
Absorbing tragedies and dramas.
A distant dream can make it alive again,
A single touch can make it tremble.
What if happiness is just a needle,
Pricking it every time we love?
Having no heart
Is either mythical or Utopian.
What are we, if not a blood clot,
A bunch of bones & meat?
Having a human heart
Is what makes us something else.
Human beings.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 5:26 AM UTC
Years ago I heard a story
about a woman trying
to find herself, but
escaping herself instead.
It's been a long time since then,
and I still ask myself:
what does escape mean?
Changing your hairstyle, or
moving to another place
doesn't make you
a different person.
No one can escape
themselves, as far as
the ocean's blue,
and the Earth is round.
Years after years,
I'd come to realize,
I did succeed in escaping
My child self.
Peter Pan has flown away,
I am all grown up,
And I still ask myself:
What do I have left?
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
I first saw my grandma knitting when I was five.
Wool yarn flowing through her fingers,
As if it was a fairy tale by the brothers Grimm.
Magic was happening, giving birth to another
sweater, or another scarf, or a dress I was probably going to wear.
I first saw a fashion magazine at the age of eight.
It was full of clothes, full of bright, extravagant colours,
I was amazed by this variety of art it kept inside,
a little girl facing her nature, her passion, her desire.
I was twelve when I first visited Germany &
realised that fashion had never been this far from people.
Oaf boots and cerulean sweaters I was seeing everywhere
As a complete outsider, an offspring of another world.
It was years after that I understood.
Clothes are what we see & beauty is what we cherish,
But, if it is filth that you carry on the inside,
It can never be covered by a little black dress.
Tipton Poetry Journal
July, 2019
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 3:07 PM UTC
Today is a rainy day in New York.
I go in the rain having no umbrella;
I feel it, drop by drop, jumping on my face.
People are coming through,
having umbrellas above their heads,
as if it were some huge eagles on the little stalks.
You always stay home on a rainy day,
As if it were a ritual, a tradition.
You skip or cancel all the affairs you have planned for such a day.
You stay home. You work. You write.
When I leave a goodbye kiss on your lips,
I feel those salty drops right on them.
You don't want rain near you,
You don't need him.
He is you.
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC
Writhing in agony, calling the name of yours,
As it's to save me or maybe, of some importance,
I am to remember the day when my oak door,
Opened by you as a part of an art performance,
Made the sound of joy (so I thought, when I saw you first,
Laughing, choking and literally, aware
Of me being zealous and feeling this very thirst)
Your curse never fled in the end of a love affair.
Now, I'm writing poems, and every day,
Like a mirror, my memory replicates you.
Coming closer and teasing, you never walk away,
As if you are the only truth and the only safety.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC
With you, my love, I'm standing in the light,
A little lantern's hanging right above us.
This face of yours, this blooming, starry night
Like sparkling wine, is poured in our glasses.
Today's the answer, what we're to become?
When I seek, I struggle with a feeling,
This evening's falling like a shooting star,
And every move is trembling and revealing.
In every glance I see the very end,
In every touch I whim the very hope,
And silver bracelet wrapped around your hand,
And on my lips the smell of cigarette smoke,
And every piece is tortured by our fate,
And every part is trying to avoid it.
All I desired was to feast, to sate,
And all that rests is throe of a poet.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC