A strange, dense, heavy word.
Once, graceful and noble
or it seemed to be
until I used it too much.
I know that something fails,
that I’m losing its huge potential.

If I pronounce it aloud
it doesn’t shine anymore for me
in the tiny corners of my mind.
It lingered awkwardly, repeating
“I’m here!”.

The tangled threads
imposing new interpretations.
The materializing weight of sounds.
It's a bitter pill to swallow,
but I know the side effects.

The lightness of the feather
turns into a red brick.
When it hits me,
my inner calm ceases to exist.

I’m struggling to rationalize,
to be more tolerant.
And I just ask myself:
if I truly believe,
why do I say it?

The word so needed,
so loved,
in the silence,
in conviction,
in the presence of no absence.

Something authentic,
wasn’t it meant to be spoken?
So sinister…
it builds and destroys.

The word,

the idea

of




TRUST...

After the pain of the human body,
silence arrives,
not good, not bad,
just without noise,
without splendid glory,
filled with unfinished thoughts
of those who loved or were loved.

Crossing through an amorphous gate,
their material vessels vanish slowly
in the rotting smell,
inevitable deconstruction
in the same irreversible order.

The red liquid comes back
to the primordial elements,
to Earth, to Air, to Void,
everything and nothing.

We who are still breathing,
create new interpretations
to be more distant than close
to the elusive insight.

Clearing our space
we put various convictions
in our grief drawer, suffering,
looking for consolation—
against the final revelation.

The cosmic conscious dust
returns to the circle of life.
Does it matter what comes after?
Just stay now,
open your arms,
embrace a tender emptiness.

For a moment,
I dive into juicy greenness.
The wind blows the leaves outside.
Today, the air is colder
than it was a few days ago,
when the warmth of the sun was so gentle.

I’m sitting, watching the faces of the youth.
They take their first exam,
a threshold to unknown adulthood.
Under the rules,
imposed by the faceless authorities,
which are as tight as windowless hallways.

I don’t envy them for being young.
I observe them with tender affection.
I pray silently for them
that the world:
won’t laugh at their dreams
won’t hurt their first love
won’t mock their faith

Their belief
they can change every despotic system.
They rise like green promises
of a better future.

It isn’t easy to walk, gravity weighs.
The biosuits lock the mind
in a narrow space.

An interpretive blow is crucial:
Does being on the other side of the mirror
truly want it, or only think it does?

A thumb drives into the right temple.
The heart pumps hectoliters of warm liquid.
Colours, sounds, tensions in the eternal swirl.

Delay in processing—eighty milliseconds
it isn’t a flaw.
It takes that long for all the cogs to turn.

Everything I do now is already in the past.
Decisions made long ago spit me out
into this reality with some name.

I am the last, but not least,
in the collective dream and blink of time.

Minds sway like golden grain, ready to be cut.
I can stand up or lie on the ground.

I walk—
toward the next stumble,
the next wound, and maybe healing.

Insights glow like yellow lanterns,
giving me some light.

No justification, no understanding.
My self-awareness is not a cozy couch.

One day,
I will stop existing, and I accept that.
I’m just afraid to leave those who still love me.

Yes, no, I don’t know.
I have only this conviction.
Talking to myself,
something says:
Breathe, don’t look, just fly…

No, don’t go! Stay a while!
Just a second here
and there
it would be a couple of solar years!

Now, you’re not a fish,
You can’t dive into this seductive,
endless abyss. Watch out!

You are a little human
wanting to cross another line,
not to die!

Just one step,
don’t look down!
Your footing—
a necessity of evolution.

Brown buttons everywhere,
like micro decisions
denying free will.

Buzzing sounds from nowhere
imbue air and chords,
so many chords
without a clear solution.

What am I doing?
My assumptions collapse.
Another transformation?

Memory came back
as crumpled paper.
But now,
I have no questions.
I know who I am.
I knew it from the core of my bones.

My awareness
suspended on the tightrope,
it drags forward.

Everything that is born
is born with a piercing sound.
So, I accepted the invitation.

They come with lofty thoughts,
burning away caring hearts,
melting down steel in the forge of Hephaestus:
individuality, critical thinking.

Carving the stone with faint whispers,
then with audacious, arrogant songs.
Words offer a sinister image of meaning,
multiplied by lost hopes, by longing.

The green-eyed monster walks,
hand in hand with the vicious chants,
muddling the calm of deep waters,
vanishing beliefs of solidarity.

Saying goodbye to tender softness,
giving away our pieces to the abstract,
cutting and throwing into non-existence
what once felt stable, what was given.

With grudge and pain, setting up barbed wire
for what was done in the past.
Passing by, you can’t shout
still, you need to defend yourself.

Looking deeply into eyes, we could
touch the essence, written in the gaze,
to read between the words, hidden stories,
but it’s already forbidden.

How difficult it is to truly accept,
with an open mind, an open heart,
in this cloudy, dense air of misleading stories

Another Human.

Kindness without a hidden agenda
Intelligence without *******
Authenticity without promotion
It sounds like sabotage these days
Or a new form of emotional cyberattack.

Loved or needed—needed or loved?
Does it still deserve to be a question?
This doubt will never be erased
from the human language.
It burns from inside
reducing plans to ash.

Do they seek to heal their broken thoughts,
or do they want to stay in hidden safety?

It’s unclear how to love all the sketches
made by routines, invisible seconds,
trivial matters
picked out from life
like slimy red, blue, and golden fish,
slipping through cold, wet fingers.

Existence as a heap of doubts
punched by blinding moments
bringing elusive clarity
that dims and flares again and again.
Needed or loved.
Loved by need,
an unbreakable union
without a sigh,
without rhythm
as a sharp dissonance.

I remember being here.
Hours trapped in the little orange grains of dust.
I recognize these voices, I know their names.
I saw these words replaying in slow motion.

Like in a perpetual motion machine
designed to heal and be healed.
I came to this place after many missed chances
finding my redemption, to see all over again.

Whenever I embrace more flashbacks
from past lives, from past sighs
settling on the broken glass like gentle steam
I feel so quietly completed.

I hide myself in invisible arms
loved many times before,
feeling that I am close to touching my infinity.
Why am I so sure this is the right path?

When I open the boxes of hidden riddles
with keys given by the ethereal glimpses
I know that I return now to the golden core,
to the beginning of everything.

Divide and conquer, deride compassion.
Indulgent resentment exposes the actions.
Wolves dressed as lambs, lambs as wolves.
Nobody believes in good ideas.

Craft deceptive reasons behind the words of love.
Stuff your victims into the dark, cramped box.
Do your work quietly, with discipline.

When the red moon rises
the energy of broken breaths
strengthens your existence.
Illusory peace as a weary sigh.

You laugh
when they try to unmask your behavior
Whispering: just another pathetic attempt
of hysterical souls, not pragmatic solutions.

Different actors, new stages.
You’re always the same,
Irresistible.

When we were leaving our place
I turned back for a moment,
I wanted to see it one last time.
The forest pulsing with dense life.

The first whisper
of Ambrorella’s blooming,
bitter fruit plucked
when we were hungry.

It was then I felt, for the last time
the false peace
of a sated animal.

I closed my eyes
and when I opened them
nothing was the same as before.

I remember,
You held my hand.
I was never just your rib,
I have always been your equal.

You didn’t resent me
for not wanting to live in illusion.
And so, our awareness began to grow.

I took the fruit
and I wasn’t the reason for our fall,
we just saw the world as it is.

I feel complete,
despite the pain that moved through my body
and still, it remains.
When all seems to die or to be born
I carry the warm living light.

Above us:
Wrong time,
wrong place.

For now, it’s safer
keeping our secrets.
Tension builds,
and in just a bit
it will all pour out.

Don’t look into my eyes
if you don’t want to share your story.
With every gaze, the gap is closing.

Something unvoiced is flowing.
The pendulum sways.
Is there life left?
Is it still a warm place,
or an illusory glow?

If you don’t want to let someone
into your territory,
please turn your head,
turn your eyes.

Seeing right through, you betray
who you were
and who you became.

Free from assumptions,
from the endless “why?”
the burning need for a unique sign.
I move just one small step back
to protect my lands not taken.

Sometimes enough feels quite soft
like a rotten tree trunk covered in moss.
I can sit and rest for a while,
diving deeply into the forest of tangled thoughts.

This time, I would like to be gentle and tender
to my inner world, to my tired soul.
I let it be calm, I allow this time
to give myself kindness.

There are those who
spark under lights,
ready for fame
and splendid glory.
Untouched by the weight
of what lies behind.

There are those
who don’t seek applause,
work their silent craft
in the back row,
hold up every story.

Quiet presence,
unnoticed encounters
in the long hallways—
heroes of background,
like the steady ticking of the clock.

They are the pillars of pyramids
built by self-proclaimed Pharaohs.

Step by step,
bit by bit,
seen unseen
unknowing shape.

Concepts in rebuild
reconstruct what has fallen.

Come on,
let in some fresh air.
No need to be afraid
the same dark chants drift by.

Change resonance.
There is a chance
for a new beginning.

Three words whispered by someone
in the past were drifting behind my eyes:
“Don’t embarrass yourself.”
  
Trigger-induction, hypnotic phrase
stiffening my muscles,  
getting stuck in my legs.

These words make me straighten up
just in case, to avoid becoming a farce,
to not risk interior pain.

I walked through the narrow hallway
some stories were explained,
others remained in the pharynx
of watchful colossal squid.

I’m a broken record,
a sponge drinking salt drops.
Hidden, desiring wishes used  
not to be said.

Self-censorship is an easy way.
Just with a bit of self-irony,
I try to play fair; I try to play safe.

Stamping my tiny, rumpled ticket
joining a collective perfect match,
even if I don’t fit into this craziest crowd.

Until now, when through the crack,
the water has gone untamed,
refusing to return to the flood control dam.

I’m afraid of what will be next
when the water swallows
my piece of comfort la-la land.

Caught asking myself
to go where there is real music
or stay in an illusory state.

A cuddle cat thinks she’s soft and kind.
But eating alone in quiet loss, not drinking tender bliss
immersed in sharp sounds, her fur is raised.

The time is not flowing, the time is slowly drowning.
Big eyes disoriented, needing mutation
in epileptic convulsions, knowing
that the weak animals might be consumed.

Dressed in costumes, movements of grace,
gestures she studied with caution, acting out the play.

Now she seems to be a Black Panther
the secret is kept, nobody sees her.
Every role comes at a cost.

Like a pit spit out, the flesh devoured,
no sweetness remains, only the hardened shells.
Welcome invisibility! She’s not prey anymore.

The last totem is her salvation.
The deep-sea-clam, she feels so safe  
bathed by the shape of cold water.

So lucid,
so spiritual,
so warm,
and sometimes
screaming.

Joyful, humorous
caring for others,
and often fed up
with cruel meanings.

So nostalgic,
a few salty tears,
mingled self-irony.

Pulsating softly,
may these thoughts
last a little longer.
They want to live despite
the announced apocalypse.

I will never taste
that exquisite flavor.
You are immersed
in language,
while I admire,
from my balcony,
your collocations,
your state of being,
expressed with juicy metaphors
that will never be mine,
even though I long for them.

I build bridges in the wind
strange in form.
I can offer nothing that
my sincerity and passion,
torn rather than beautifully woven.

Thank you for stopping by
reading them with wonder.
Please think warmly of me
if I fail to ignite your intellect.
I came to experience
I am a freed soul,
finding words in a foreign tongue.
I reconstruct myself
between the lines.

Scratches on broken glass,
echoes drifting apart.
Neither distance nor time
can erase them.

What came before me
still touches me so deeply.
Memory, language, and land
flow through my veins.

The blissful days were fractured
by wounds never healed.
Stories whispered,
never reaching the community.

The victors write
the official version,
but minds and hearts hold their truths.

I trace the sign of infinity
against the window
with my fingertips.

The cold, transparent glass
reflects the distant lights.
The evening city moves so fast,
and time seems to slow down.

Yet this disturbing reflection
lingers in my mind.
I have been living in this town for years,
feeling as if I’m not really here,
in reality.

Somewhere unknown,
behind my eyes
unspoken nostalgia
softly calls to me,
drawing ever closer
like a friend
who knows me best,
who truly sees me as I am.

What is it that I long for so deeply?
What kind of truth do I seek to reveal?
I feel whole in this human existence
but an irrational voice murmurs:
This is not your place,
not your time.

Maybe I feel like this
because,
one day, by chance
I left my body in pain
touching infinity
and I sensed freedom
beyond the weight of human doubt?

When the eye fails to recognize colors,
and the ear ceases to catch sounds,
when the mind doesn’t weave words
into something coherent,
and the body, shrunken,
no longer flinches to escape fear.

Then, my life, let me sit in a cozy chair,
wrapped in warm light,
and once again,
let me dive deep into the idealized past.

I will return without regret
to those faces, voices, and places.
I will wait, sitting in my pain,
calmly.

This departure will take a long while,
before I stamp my one-way ticket,
and everything becomes simple,
unconditional.

One day,
the stream of my consciousness
will dissolve into nothingness.

Then, my soul, let me—
in a gentler version than it was in reality—
settle discreetly and painlessly
in the memories of those dear to me.

I want to be nothing more
than a gentle touch of endless,
patient love.
A quiet presence,
a whisper of boundless solace.

Dear Universe,
I apologize for not reading
your messages before.
I just preferred to go
my own untraveled road.
You know me so well—

Youth, optimism
and stubbornness
were my strengths.
All these appearances
to decide for myself
with free will?
It was worth it.

Over the years,
I understood
that you are not my enemy.
You wished me to feel better,
and truly complete.
Now, I open your letters,
peacefully smiling,
without fear,
knowing I won’t find
false promises
or easy solutions.

You send me people,
situations, symbols, dreams,
and beautiful melodies,
carried by the solar wind—
that I take in surprising peace.
Even though,
sometimes it’s painful.

I store measured meanings
all definitions neatly arranged in drawers,
to calm the mind and heart.

I see with human eyes,  
carefully tracing the pulse of the planet.
In this apparent chaos, a strict order reigns.

In the cycles of the nightly day and daily night,
the same thoughts come to me like wistful friends,
longing to bridge micro and macro scales,
to merge into oneness.

Waiting in line for health,
I heard that time is relative.
What insightful words
shift meaning
in different contexts.

Trees, animals, human beings—
Each one perceives the flow of time
through a different lens…

If I were a butterfly
its three weeks would be my entire life.
How sad it is that
I cannot truly appreciate
a single second of a butterfly’s day.
Its rhythm moves beyond my awareness.

To people, Eternity is a never-ending story
of unrecognized fields of unknown space.
To ethereal, thoughtful giants
just a fleeting instant,
the blink of the universe
across the slender strait.

I can whisper or scream,
cry, laugh,
or remain silent for years,
but on a grander scale,
it will be nothing more than
a dainty breath of spring wind.

So please don’t be upset with me
that I can’t feel the same as you do now.
To you,
this is the endless painful abyss.
To me,
it’s just a passing memory
of deep night vanishing
into a new dawn of becoming.

The water was crystalline and cold
I danced with you in a crushing grip
and distant disconnection.

I held on to you—
in an illusory intimacy,
and deafening silence,
in the moments of fulfillment,
in the endless hours of isolation.

It was my first dance—
chosen with open eyes.
Youth tames wild rivers,
but the swirling depths take away
strength, naivety,
and wonder.

I persisted in stubbornness for years,
suspended between the worlds—
like a stone swallowed by a waterfall
at first, looking into an icy void
then into the warm sun,
convincing myself
I could heal something,
never having been whole.

Uncertain of what was
much closer to me—
my persistence
or my yearning
for what would never come to be.

Then the river tore me from the shore
carried me far away.

Did I ever have a choice?

The hardest thing
is to say goodbye to what
was never real.

This dance by the waterfall’s edge
will remain the only dance of my life.
I know I don’t want to be trapped
in the cold waters rushing toward
the abyss.

That night in my dream
I saw the table, sheets of paper,
pens scattered all around.

I sat down to write,
like many nights before.
I picked a pen and another,
but both ran out of ink.

The voices fell silent.
I sat alone in my room,
calm and surprisingly happy
watching the black sky
not as scary as before.

I thought of the sleepless hours,
spent chasing words until dawn,
afraid that something might go wrong
in a nebulous state of mind.

In the dim light of the lamp,
I raised a ladder
to my inner world.
That night,
I felt relief.
I told myself,
Why not?

If I couldn’t write I would rest—
without tension
without the nasty inner critic.

When my pens finally run dry,
It won’t be my unhappy end.
Just another phase.

Thank you, my Intuition,
for inspiration,
your soft, invisible voice
carried me to alternate worlds.
Challenging, yet meaningful.

My kingdom is built with
words, signs, powerful speeches,
sinister sentences, unspoken spells.

When you utter the first word,
you trace or carve a symbol in the air,
you are mine and mine alone.

Rationalizing, defending, and denying—
You detach, wrapping in theories
convincing yourself
that you possess a unique power.

You tear up your contracts,
scribbling dissonant manifestos.
You bite into my subtle meanings,
shouting at me in frustration.

I am the one who is—
the Realm of Ever-Shifting Elements.

When you return to me exposed,
opaque to others,
I am safe and dangerous—
I am your freedom
within endless captivity.

I won’t look into your eyes,
you don’t see mine.
We don’t hear our voices.
Our trust will never be whole.

My thoughts flow too fast to catch;
language is limited.
I’m a small, whispering brook
in a forgotten forest.
Your reflections are vast oceans
that you tame like wild animals.

Here I am, a foreigner among concepts.
I want to know the truth about who I am,
but my tired hands and heavy head,
no longer work as they did before.

You asked for an opinion.
But how could I give one?
I’m behind cold glass,
trying to piece together flashbacks
of who I was just an hour ago.

This world is so unpredictable, frenetic.
I see people everywhere,
their plans left at the bus stop,
driven by the will to survive.
An addictive vortex of emotions draws us in
as fears fuel the planned chaos.

We are living now in the mirror world.
Everything is reversed.
Here, the victims must apologize
to their oppressors.

How could I speak to them about peace and values?
I try to offer a simple smile to cheer up,
to keep my mind sane.
I’m a silent voice in rough waters.

In your eyes, I see my own.
I waited so long
for your presence to become real.

In that crucial moment,
I felt something
changing my awareness,
and the soundless vessels were filled
with joyful abundance—
colored by
pain and sadness
that time goes so fast
in underrated moments.

Materializing all these silent dreams,
this one little girl who is growing,
watching me with defenseless trust
like nobody has before.
Gestures, smiles, brief anger, and talks—
I gather them in endless memory.

Sweet Melody, my Purpose
from the first breath,
you chose me,
and I felt beautifully complete.

I know that a real journey
begins through terra incognita
Every day is surprisingly different.
I accept with relief my passing.
I see your blooming wisdom
in thinking smiles, and authentic recognition.

My Daughter, I want to give  
as much love and acceptance as you need.
Taking your hand and letting you go
when you’re ready
to walk into life on your own—
watching the indigo sky.
Breathing freely, without anxiety.
After each fall, another resurrection comes.

I am here, I hope to stay a long while
to finally return to my last home,
without fear, with some tears.
Please, keep embracing this existence
with good and lost people around.
Be sure that I will smile
in your still-beating heart
giving you warmth.
.

In this ceaseless, surprising journey,
it seems unthinkable
that you could ever flicker out.

You drift through thoughts,
piercing the event horizon,
touching the impossible,
deflecting off the wall.

You turn back along cosmic paths,
your photons comprehend
the nature of who we are—
a sum of chance and fate,
woven into living threads,
floating endlessly
in the tender night.

I cut through realities
like a slow-moving train,
seeing chess masters, victims,
silent witnesses
drowning in dense air.

From a dim-lit corner
I see those who run
breathing in danger.
Scattered shreds of information
stick to my head.

Precognition is
riddled with blurry spoilers.
Too vague to hold,
too sharp to ignore.
One girl was saved.
The boy? I sensed the loss
but not the name.
Bitter ineffability.
I draw words from an old well.

I wish my visions
were just a nightmare—
not incarnations
of a day yet to come or not.
The pictures wrench at my veins,
like dulled knives
playing a discordant melody.
Only a clear mind can save me.

I rebel in the silent scream,
clenching my hands
smiling slightly—
just enough
so others don’t see my fear.
The heavy drift of solitude
between reality and possibility…
Stubborn time bends,
refusing to be linear.
Am I still here…
or nothing but a vanishing sound?