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Tell me, voice,
How much time have you spent
touching heads and hearts?
Demanding to shape new worlds,
giving hope through despair?

This is a community of Catchers Dreamers,
growing as they look out of their windows.
They glue a torn truth,
completing and filling in new meanings
and symbols to push away
cruel and illogical realities,
political performances.

Today, it’s so difficult to write poems
in the empty spaces,
when money assigns values
to be or not to be.

Opening the little *****
with a metaphor, and pain,
they spin, reading and writing
silver threads are punching their hands
impossible to relieve this irreversible tension.

What a beautiful tone of
polyphonic orchestral poetic flow,
of thousands, millions of words,
serious and bitter losses,
coming closer and much closer
to a Common Human Denominator.
To my Friends Poets and my dearest English  teacher, Tina.
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.
Under my eyelids,
small and large, hidden feelings.
They are pinching, twisting,
healing me.

But when I open my eyes,
everything begins anew.
The train cuts through reality
flowing in a big hurry.
This is my private driving force.

The nod of ironic thoughts
bursts inside implicit words.
Welcome my smile-finally
you have appeared!
My missed special guest.

Now, everything is fine.
I only enjoy a comic mood.
It was too serious and heavy
So, I switch off my mode:
Complicating Even Simple
I choose to jump in a rumpled glory
between spicy, witty meanings.
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.
Gaia

I remember the warm autumn's bare soil,
the aftermath of the harvest.

The setting sun touched my shape, and
I pressed my ear to the ground.

My heart was beating so fast.
The Earth’s rhythms were so gentle and calming.

The warmth and relaxing grounding
whispered a subtle narration that I can’t recall.

The wind sang the future, and I, lying on the earth,
I listened to the past, closed in the dust of past generations.

How comforting is this echo of my childhood
It gave me strength and conviction.

I took the right path with the sun, wind, and soil.
The freedom of my narration.
I grew up in the countryside when nature was still close to people, and people were close to nature. My grandparents passed down this heritage of memories to me. That world is gone...I was a free spirit among meadows and forests.
Somebody knocked at his window.
It was a dull, haunting sound.

Black tar filled a fearful, splintered mirror.
Something invisible touched his scruff.

That was a day, but the light faded into the night.
A cacophony of whispers shrouds his fearful heart.

It was so good, it was all right, as a sweet lullaby…
Who let a black Tesseract of doubt into his mind?

Exposed to both sides of black-and-white magicians,
playing their deceptive songs, their juggling tricks.

The human weeps for what could have been—
for devouring hunger, unfinished great plans…

Let him complete his painful catharsis,
let salty tears touch these deep wounds.

But when the next day comes,
tell him there are many more lost out there…

You know the truth: hell is hiding
in the black Tesseract of our heads and hearts…
Interpretations
Many visions of what we are living:
one is dreaming,
immersed in the ocean of metaphors
like ***** 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.
She lost thin hair
for worries.
The bones shrank
without stunning pain.
Body hunched
but still working.

Seeing lost angels
passing through,
dark labyrinths,
an alley of exiles.
No artifacts, no money
no fame…

So, why does she act
as if it belongs to her
all the tangy sweet world
in royal dominion?

She loves …
almost everyone
without any love.

Oh, this invisible,
subtle tenderness!
Too quiet to be spotted
by deafening loudness.
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.
Seeing the raindrops
meet a passing existence,
in limpid tears
A short reflection
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.
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…
We are dreaming—
you and I,
and perhaps she, maybe he.

Thinking that blissful encounter
has taken place,
shaping us like a sweet
and gentle morning breeze

Never again will any rejection
cause pain,
because that appointment
has taken place.

Blessed are those who have met
and blessed are those who
still wait,
in the state of sweet elevation.
#Elevation #Appointment
To close emotions tightly?
A broken mosaic,
it’s hard to fix.
It's better not to risk another fall.

Tears are gone,
the eyes are empty,
like a vast desert,
with blue-black flashes of memory,
hitting him out of control.

Life appears and disappears
in the cells of the body.
Emotions?
He can't feel it anymore.
There’s too much pain.

When the last wound heals,
he will pass through life
as a New Automatic Person.
Anesthetized to all sensations,
Although deep down,
he would like to feel
something again.
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.
Three wheels:
The past and the future contain today.
I’ve forgotten what I wanted.
What mattered slipped away quietly.
I’m seeing the particle of bliss
in the fulfilled gaze of the women
from the old photograph.

Enigmatic smiles,
on tired faces.
How do they do it?
The apparent peace with
the fleeting triumph of lightness.
I would like to take off all my desires,
to find a moment of mental rest
but my valley of thoughts is still waiting
for my own,
a long-awaited miracle.

— The End —