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.

Pink-red hearts of chocolate
What an invasion of love!
I always smile at those
who decided to celebrate
being together.

This energy surpasses rationality.
Find and keep a small paradise
after a crash or a change of plans.
Life could be so exciting!

How many languages do
happiness and tenderness speak?
Let's celebrate misunderstanding!

Perhaps one true friend
means more than twinkling fireworks  
on a February evening?

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.

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.

Before, I didn’t want this silence
I struggled with an untamed aphasia
I thought if I no longer had voices,
hums, spinning chimes,
it would become nothingness,
the perfect cosmic vacuum.

Unfinished strands seeking new lands
trying to fill the jug
with the whispers of soul dust…
The fading echo defends itself
against absolute emptiness.

They keep talking,
they still try deforming a single atom
so as not to disappear.
But the polyphonic dimension of tones
is slowly dying down.
A breath of the universe's relief,
a pulsating consciousness rising
giving gentle, immense serenity.

Faster and faster,
chasing one thought after another.
The unbridled force doesn’t stop
carrying dissonant sounds,
playing melodies on one dissonant string.

The reality?
Shaping through thoughts, through words
and actions.

If you listen, you are a friend.
If you reject it, you are just an enemy.

Emotions vibrating in the air
The butterfly effect works so well.
Nobody sees subtle cracks in the structure.

A pluck of the string.
The fragile beings disappear.
Those who feel compassion,
bearing the burden
of those who find pleasure
in the fears of others.

This is not a polyphony,
this is a cacophony of curses
of those who are unscrewing
the lightbulb in the middle of the day.

Please,
don’t fall asleep
though your eyes are heavy.

You still have your own songs
to sing purely and loudly
in the middle of the night.

Nobody lives upstairs.
A small purple cube,
on a huge, cozy bed,
it rests there.

Locked with a thousand keys,
a forgotten password,
rusted threads of steel
to make sure that
no one can get inside.

From that hidden place
the strange sounds slip out.

A formless entity that seems
to be alive,
to never go out,
is trapped for decades.
  
A small purple box
needs to be protected
from collapse,
by an inner yellow eye
so it doesn’t blink,
but watches to keep its secrets.

What is inside?
Envy,
jealousy,
desire,
or another force?

Should I name it aloud?
To understand,
to make real
the lost origin
of the human self?

When I was a child, I had a dream:
nameless souls surrounded me
in a circle of light.

They told me I had to live this life
in pastel shades of grey,
in autumn rains and freezing winters,
with returning hope in the sunlight of spring.

The world is full of wounded branches,
they said:
you will feel where they hurt,
but don’t speak of it.
To be seen in pain
renders them exposed and fragile.

I didn’t listen, I didn’t understand.
I wanted to save the world and myself.

Now I only whisper words softly,
knowing they won’t change the flow of time.

Pain remains pain, and loss remains loss.

I stay for a while in a quiet presence,
watching where the light still flickers,
so they don’t lose hope
when, in their own world,
the glow has faded.

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.

It is what it is.
If you don’t try to persist
and seek the essential,
you are protected.

Too many patterns
in the mind to analyze.
If you go straight,
you are untouched,
but if you turn the page…

Everything will change,
the scorched material
waking up to convert its shape.
The definitions are trembling
Nothing is the same.

The eyes hunt the words,
never spoken before
in the large boiling cauldron
of speculation.

You can’t guess
which role in the show
will be assigned
if you step beyond
fixed synchronization,
but does it matter if you’re
on the next page?

I want every word of mine
not to punch, but to touch quietly,
to invisibly reach another heart.

I don’t need to write
if my words have not been truly welcomed
it’s better they vanish in the air, into oblivion.

Too much pain has been
engraved like a tragic keepsake
on the map of human downfall.

Can I blame the destructive inner flames
for being a fixed part of existence?
No, I can’t! I couldn’t!

I absorb the marvelous juicy green depth
with blue skies and shining clouds,
such moving beauty
as a witness to personal struggle.

And I am still afraid of tears
of others’ screams,
and of my helplessness.
I don’t want to be too late to help,
to choose the wrong word,
the wrong path.

I wish when it comes to me
to be ready and calm
to open my eyes wide,
to freeze my fears,
and to act without doubt
with all my silent conviction.

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…

Why does this color feel so familiar to me?
Dreams—visions
bringing serenity into reality,
are present and yet still comforting…

It’s funny how casual symbols
and ephemeral frames together
create a surprisingly good script.

Once my dreams were nightmares,
goodbyes, delayed journeys.
But that night was different.
I wanted to fly in the light.
My spirit levitated
as gently as a bright spring day
in the silver-white flickering shine.

I saw my transparent corporeal tissues
my hands, my feet, my pulsing veins
a glowing surrealistic sketch.
For the first time, I felt deep and sincere,
fondness for my body.

How often have I punished myself harshly
for its perfect imperfection?
As I lay on the floor, wanting to numb the pain.
There is no poetry or beauty in physical,
ugly, unbearable suffering.

That night, I saw the deep blue-indigo sky
flowing through me as a quiet living brook
that I used to meet while walking on summer days
in the green, life-scented forest.

I saw my still-living body
so vulnerable, forsaken by my awareness.
When I woke up, I understood that
loving myself isn’t overwhelming egoism.
How strange that even a silly dream
could give me strength and bring me
to a safe home—to my own body.

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.