An ethereal Goddess,
she can hold their hand,
and walk beside them,
never behind nor ahead.

She gives her soothing warmth,
until the time comes,
then she calmly and slowly,
sets them free in silence
with deep understanding.

Why should she try to keep them?
Why? Only those who wish to stay
don’t leave when the starless night flows.
She won’t fill their deep, immense void,
nor quench their aching hunger,
if they fail to see her true essence and value.

Yes, you were right
I hide myself behind metaphors,
floating through unspoken feelings
I celebrate my private happiness solo.

Without judgments and what was meant to be,
I sculpt my own friendly mental space,
reading and writing poems,
I drift into the unbearable lightness of being.

Imperceptible losses
and rebirths
in one human life.
Dreams, people saying goodbye
in an elliptical circle of losses
with blooming awareness.

This is a permanent, seductive opposition
of invisible, changing thoughts.
A tug-of-war between
the beautiful glimpses
of pure emptiness,
and refreshing fever, the will to live.

Who am I?
I’m a multitude of small deaths and rebirths
longing for something hazy…
So, I say every night to myself, without regret
“Sweet dreams” looking in the mirror.

I let the bird out of the cage:
the woman who I am now,
to welcome, tomorrow early morning,
the same but no longer the same.
And so, I came into being
a New Incarnation…

Do you know that Riemann Hypothesis
still remains unsolved?
We are moving like a pendulum
between our families, jobs
and deep wishes to create.
Sharing hours and fleeting days
of our lives.

Curiosity about the next move, wit,
and silence when support is not enough.
Everyday rituals,
healer and side effects…
How good it is to say, “I’m still here!”
Keeping a morning cup of bitter coffee
with a strong will thanks to a lucky twist of fate.

Many visions of what we are living:
one is dreaming,
immersed in the ocean of metaphors
like a ball of poetry or prose.

Another world-a journey
through large landscapes,
from micro to macro scale,
detail by detail,
within hormones, physicality,
and all these patterns.
An incredible complexity,
impossible to explore.

Drawing and canceling old conceptions
of scientific-spiritual dialogue,
prolific phantom of thoughts,
that appears and disappears in
blinking pulse of the universe.

So, who comes closest to the truth?
I don’t care.
I live at the edge of what I feel,
unable to dress in an elusive shape
of who I am.

trying to tame the power of all chants
into life-giving creativity.

Mirrors around me,
I reflect on them,
but I can’t see my face—
only a distant nature
and shapes of others.

What I felt became true,
my way home is buried.
I chose to vanish into air.
The invisibility shields me
from sharp shells.


Now I am safe,
avoiding the pull
of apparent lightness.
So, I close them
one by one—
patiently,
all unresolved riddles
in the eternal Sphinx gaze.
At the ocean's edge
of hypnotizing dances.

Every night,
I open a new door to a secret tale,
a flashback from the threshold.
I wish I had put everything on the right side,
but I can’t find the words to express this state of being.

Happiness is like an ephemeral sound,
trying to escape from tight shells,
squeezing thoughts into a small black hole.

I don’t see a linear existence.
I’m always between whispering dreams,
listening for a long time, a mermaid chant
patiently waiting for a joyful symbol,
a reward for the time absorbed.

Now I am tired, I need to sit down
on a stone of my decisions.
I hope to stay a while in my inert numbness,  
but I really want to be reborn into another story.

I wish to feel true reciprocity one day
without useless words or expectations
and after quietly complete
my last human transformation.

We trigger an avalanche of reactions,
without consciousness of faults made.

We tread on the thin ice of the lake.
Under us, everything drifts.

Inner voices
urge us, despite the cold.

Personal anxiety
the back of the head throbs.

We wear different states of existence:
Happiness, purgatory, and despair.

Living despite boundless doubts,
we are sculpting our metaphysic.

The road is so long.
Maybe my consciousness
will touch them one day.
Merge into the silence,
unbroken by despair.
I wanted to be there and see
this monumental ballet.

I put words together
to convince myself
that miracles could exist.
I just have to find a code,
a language of metaphors,
to let go of my pain.

Love, disillusion,
and hope,
with one drop of creativity.
Should I stop dreaming,
and wait in peace for nothing?
I pretend not to understand,
but compassion, every time,
is stronger than sarcasm.

Oneness.
I cannot separate you from my Consciousness.
I am in a state of physical focus,
Yet, movement happens in every nook and cranny of this biological whole.
The cell is a micro-universe; its laws govern it.
Revolves in a closed space, separated by membranes and fluids.
They are the discrete, wrapping endless spaces.
Torn DNA ties, someday, will allow me to drop,
Like an empty jug, my physicality will be shattered into atoms.
For now, we are still together: I and you, YOU and me.
For better or worse, in health and sickness,
in love and letting go.
I want to last with you as long as possible if fate allows,
in progressive physical frailty,
We will collapse into each other, saying goodbye inevitably to this union.
Standards, tables, and charts of what you should look like are foreign to me.
I don't need perfection.
I like you more now than when you were young.
Others say that this acceptance comes with age.
After so many years, without fear, I'm back in deep water.
We float lightly, you and I, in an existential union.
We observe the state of passing, and we are with it, so strangely comfortable.
Our child is growing.
Day by day, hour by hour, he is approaching the world of adulthood.
In some time, already without you, in a silent eternity,
I will see, I don't yet know how unfamiliar the faces of people    
will be.
I know that I will miss you and the pain of physicality.
The thought that you were with me all the time
will give me solace.
My body,
I think, I already understand the nostalgia of the angels.
They desire just once, for a short time
to flow into the Physical boat to feel how it is to be a Human Being

The circles of time overlap.
You see with myriad eyes.
Rings in different directions are spinning
At variable speed,
Following the invisible spirit.
You already know about everything,
But dogma’s tightness limits
Make you indifferent to
An individual fate lost in time and dimension.
A single person in the turn of the wheel
Of celestial spheres is like
An ant colony crushed by a hurtling machine.
Goal achieved:
Created on the ruins of destruction.
The fear of passing glimpses
Is just an echo of scattered glints
Orion’s Nebula.
I ask and I’m afraid of answers.
I chose the unskilled objection
Rather than conviction about inerrancy.
To be floating in your oblivion
Like a discordant sound
in a harmonic chant
of everything is my privilege,
My existential plan.