The red box's encrypted lock
Wrapped around a shield of lessons learned and time-saving wisdom
When familiar notes disclose the long hidden boiling water

It is now a release of the smell of ginger,
Now a release of the humming of a playlist
Now a release of the taste of a golden perfume
Now a release of the touch of the sun
Now a release of the sight of the Pearl,
Of the girl...

And she is dragged into this pleasant hurricane

'Cause she knows is more human to taste the salt in her tongue than see grey all along

'Cause she finds pleasure and joy in the burning, bitter and blinding strike of light

"The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable."

Invasive?
Doesn't a deep gaze carry
numerous hooks disguised as unpretentious interrogation marks?
They're faster than the blink of the eyelids,
ambitiously break into the one in front,
stealing something
not for sale in the first place.

But, you just wanted to know
...just wanted to know that sparkling little piece of life behind the curtains of the iris
Then you suddenly find yourself apologizing
It was not your intention to set your noxious questions free,
hooks of someone else's life

Vulnerable?
You smell the eyes in front of you,
You see they can effortlessly listen to your thoughts, which have been screaming anyway, from the windows, of your soul.
Even those ignored little parts insist on showing off

You can almost physically feel it,
streams of dense water travelling
from the very core of your cells,
going up your veins,
holding your breath for a second when passing through your throat,
until it finally reaches your pupils' edge,
where they can bluster it out
and it's gone!
You're left with the hope
that the eyes in front of you haven't seen the spectacle.

Let my body be a battlefield for my soul.
Let my veins carry water
and mud.
Let my feet walk on air
and hot coals.
Let my eyes see infinity
and death.
Let my ears smile
with harmonious note
and bleed
with screaming throat
Let me be.
Let me be.
The fool.
The joker.

Sunlight would feed all moving creatures that day
But in that yellow building,
ice from yesterday's blizzard
still wrapped a stormy heart

It took a ride

Trees passing by
Must have been the things left behind
Delicate wind came intensely through the window
The horizon ahead, calls for whole bodies and souls,
not halves

first crack in the ice

Comfortably sit, nowhere to run
ears on the road
eyes having fun
One hand would hold the beer
The other shake impressions,
words, rhythms, melodies and questions
All sounds started to feel so clear

second crack in the ice

Such a difference
From the past usual indifference
No silence, no call-offs, no pride
And the unknown pieces of life
stroke the wall of ice

all down,

you were starting to calm the tides
but agitate the waves
it was the beginning of the warm age
Astonished, the seagull found out it was possible to turn into a trout
It seems like a great day
To go outside to play

The poem is a poet's food
Some are bread poems
Some are meat poems
Some are bread and meat poems
And some are the rare chocolate poems

She shall seek bread for energy
She shall seek meat for strength
She shall seek bread and meat for survival
And she shall seek chocolate for contemplation

The reason
chocolate poems are hard to find...

When the poet is well fed
she is ungrateful to poetry
Primary Needs scream louder
Contemplation only whispers joyful sounds

...and she must find time and silence to hear it

But that can wait,
first she will have a taste of the sandwich meal

They say the best poets are those with uninteresting lives
I say the best poets are those who eat the best food and choose to share their dessert

A bunch of anything
Doesn't make your everything

moving grounds
force you to fly

steady grounds
allow you to fly
                                                


                                                                               and come back anytime

She wished to have in mind that fleeting feasts
were enough to keep the journey heading West
All nothing but mistaken assumptions,
for her body and soul had no intent of being only guests

But as it's true and fair
Being at the moment must one not spare
For only in today should all passions take place
No space for nostalgic or jittery heart

But as it's still true and fair
No passion can be felt without depth and care
For only with pieces of honest present,
Collected and fervent hearts will dare

The repeated mistake, oh dear
Trusting
since no past and future are behold
It would be no bother the sudden cold

To do or not to do, you can never say
Like the shadows in a partly cloudy day
How will she decide
Whether to go outside to play or inside to stay?