there's only
one sentence
that worth
the saying
in all
the vocabulary,
in all
the dialect
we have learned.
that sentence is:
i don't know.

winter morning;
vived blue sky
hidden with a spread
of white,
and some gray

a small, gentle
waterfall
intermingles
a riverstream
guided by
old, dramatic,
crooked
trees
that bend
touching the water;
a green field
at the other bank
corners it all

a small,
light
bird
lands on top
of one of the trees

at a small breeze
the bird departs
across the green field

one strong wingbeat –
breeze softly carries
another wingbeat –
go with the flow

for those who live
in the realm
of imagination,
dreaming...
don't be ashamed
to reside
in the hope,
in the innocence

a false hope,
a life
lived
with a illusion,
is always better
than waking up
to a disappointment
that once was
your utopia

a human
achievement
is always preceded
with the hope
of something else...
there's no something else.

my father
is
completely
hypnotized
by
television
news

he says,
and i quote:
the world
is going crazy

father,
tell me:
when you were born;
were the birds singing?
the grass growing?
the rivers streaming?
the ocean waving?
the wind blowing?

if not for thought,
what in the nature
of reality
really changed?

there's nothing
mankind
wants more
than
admiration

they've tried
different
schemes,
all to achieve
the same result,
admiration

do you
know
the difference
between
an artist
and a
tyrant?

they have both
their own
private
world,
filled with
fears,
joys,
shames,
regrets...

the difference
between them
is that:
the artist
share his world,
while the tyrant
wants to make you
live in his

but,
don't be fooled!
they have both
the same goal,
admiration

you know
you've found
a real artist
when he
didn't share
his world

now,
do i have
your admiration?

respectfully
pointing out:

the word world
is just
another word
to say
me.

your world
is not
my world

your struggle
can be
my struggle

how each of us
perceive it,
creates
two different
worlds

if this is true,
our worlds
are merely
the deduction
of information
that forms
emotional
activity
inside
our brain

marvelously
liberating
this is

there is a cork oak
in the playground
of the school
i studied
twenty years ago

there is a cork oak
in the playground
of the school
my mother
studied
fifty years ago

this cork oak
has big,
ancient roots
that form
a seat
where children's
play

today they're
there, seated
like i
and my mother
once were

seated in that cork oak
we told stories,
we laugh,
we escaped

seated in that cork oak
generations
imagined
their realms

i love that
cork oak.
he is my
first,
and most faithful
friend

how many friends
has he had?
how many will
he have?
what secrets
does he hold?

it's roots
rest in infinity
alongside
with our
most purest
being