…  my heart is made of birds
                      chirping …………   it’s about time,
for the raven to leave,

sunrise on cotton leaves …..
                               singing in the dew shower,
                                                        It’s about time
For the raven to leave,

…. a full forest singing just for me,
                                                     IT’ S ABOUT TIME
For the R-A-V-E-N to leave

and the cold grabs you by the As because you've gotten it into your head that time is responsible for everything,
                                                              wh­en it doesn't even exist
and care,

in the end, the cold has its own business; it can come and go when its muscles want,
i saw how the cold invaded india,
after you left, it snowed in every place we thought to go,

the locals went to the buddha to pray for the snow not to melt,
they send the cold back to us
                                               to warm his little hands,

This is how the world grows from the cold and loneliness,
it grows into a lousy monkey,

In the last 500 years, westerners with acid in their fingertips, and
their bellies fermenting liquor, have built boats, airplanes, to take their loneliness around the world,
after that, they molted like snakes


... and love gets stuck in your throat like a fish bone,
you have no choice, you learn to live with the bone in your throat, even
when you kiss, and even when you
f...ly

and what business do hindu peasants have with the cold in the bones of an american, or a canadian,
a frenchman,
when it no longer attracts him to throw himself into the Seine,
but runs to buddha, to
                                    export his loneliness,

... airports are always packed with abandoned solitudes,
who dream of flying,
flying
           even to the moon, to forget about them, like a coat, to forget it somewhere,
somewhere on a stone,
or on a bench in a park in paris,
in a cafe decorated with fresh flowers,
and two cheerful lovers, hand in hand, who sit down, drink coffee, and look each other in the eye,
and, inkognito
the loneliness of the american tourist infiltrates their gaze
either to comfort them, or to scare them,
to make their legs tremble, to bring them to a common denominator,
and here is loneliness and the nitrophor that awakens our hearts,
the only one capable of raising kites in the wind,

an invisible glue,
loneliness is the only one who dreams,
walks through all the corners, wipes the dust,
and even digs to put the frost back into our bones, and again to take it out
like a tooth that hurts


the cold left on a beach
in Cucabaka country, awaits the only sunrise,

only the cold in the bones is still her friend, the fierce loneliness,
**** loneliness,
joyful loneliness,
sad one,
the loneliness of the japanese decorated with sand gardens,
so it's not blue loneliness,
the loneliness of the french is thrown over bridges,
taken to the moulin rouge,
the russian walks her among white birches,
rolls her on white nights, gives her ***** to drink,
the romanian cries after her, what if she leaves him too,

the latin invites Lonellies to dance:
- Señorita, there's still time for one more tango



... when
you are truly alone, not even the cold is with you,
it leaves through your kidneys, it goes to Angelina Jolie's country,
only loneliness crawls on your elbows looking for a mosquito to bite its buttocks,
but even heat can suffocate you when you are born with loneliness in your blood,

all the blame is on your blood type.

who gave it to you?
they say God has blood type zero,
those with blood type A **** loneliness,
what about B, they write to feed it with poems,

there are many kinds of loneliness,
for those who meditate, they say they stay in solitude,
a sort of alcoholic loneliness, only on the other side of the brain,



lights, so many cars, houses, and buildings around you,
you suffocate, but you squirm like a worm in your "maestro" brand bed and complain that you're alone,
some people call that loneliness when they eat or sleep alone, but I say it's not,
it's not,
as long as you have something to eat and somewhere to sleep, you're not alone,
even sleeping on the street, and picking up trash, you're still not alone,

loneliness is when you get on mars (like mat damon) and you use your feces to create chernozem soil, and want want to grow potatoes,

*
loneliness is just a coat you put on when you're cold,
and we shouldn't overlook that the planet is warming,
and the rains are flooding us, the glaciers are melting,
so neither is the cold the same as it used to be, nor is loneliness the same as it used to be.

it's just a coat that only we know how to put on,
how to wear it,
and when, and where,
and yet,
once, without wanting to, without anyone asking us, loneliness was born to unite us with the cold

(and one day you woke up in a cave, alive, with a stone in your hand)

If the desire for life is not burning your heart,

If the desire for life is not burning your heart,
go to the flower fields, lie down in the green grass, and kiss it
until it gets your lips green
green  - green -  and
                                    deepen your hands în the black earth,
deepen your hands în the black earth,
squeeze its roots,
                            squeeze its roots,
squeeze its roots, like a child does,
let its juices drain through your fingers

let its juices drain through your fingers

let its juices drain through your fingers

meet the sun rising like a Lover,
let it be your guiding myth,
let it be your silent light,

flow with the waves of the sea,
                                                 flow with the waves of the sea,
randomly, give a hug to a seagull, and dream, dream, dream...

After,
if you are tempted, you can try over and over ... over ...
if help is needed, the wind can help,
                                                    let the heart open like a rose,
share the dawn,
                         roses love to be touched only by the morning dew
dew dew dew
dew
after, if you  are tempted, try again, one more time,

(…all we do here, my dear, is try
            to recover
                         the wings we once lost in the rain …)

a fish bone
stuck in your throat
that you have to get along with it

Spreads sun atoms all over the place,
It feels like the planet will soon stop moving.
The wind, like a baby, is playing
                      -  is building staircases from leaves,
It spins them around, then rests.
Trows seeds in the air: oak nuts, mushrooms
and tears,
                and, like fainted lovers in the night,
Waits for a harvest of snowflakes

I read Zygmunt Bauman, but I think of the Aeneid and
                                                                  the seven years of wandering, and
the Nashua river that keeps flowing beside me, and the storm from last night, and
the tree blown down, which is still on the ground, lying  as if it was tired and went to sleep,
the only difference now is that the roots stand with their mouth opened up speaking with the clouds,
                                waiting for the rain, waiting for the night,
begging

In the winter i'll come
I'll come to you in the winter -
                                            In the winter I'll come,
Like a flake, i'll fall in your palms,

In the winter i'll come,
Galloping on the white wind, in my hair, to hold you,
                                    With the horizon waving,

Don't go, don't go,
I will come, don't forget me,
I am lost among strangers,
                            I'll come, wait for me -
Like a tear, i'll drop from the sky
                    to kiss your warm cheeks,

Whisper to me again - eternity,
                                      I'll come, wait for me,
In the winter, i'll fall,
                    Like a flake, i will fall in your palms
I'll melt

I am thinking to invite you for a cup of tea

      i  imagine how
                            slow
                                    the teapot will boil
                                                              on the stove

the steam will colonize the air in the room ~
                                                          conquer the silent walls

politely
          we’ll sit near the window at the little oak table
will
    support our elbows,
                                    hands ~  the chins,
    face-to-face,
                          like a frozen perfume
                                                            in the air,
reading into each other's eyes
                                                  ~ the dreams

after,
        watching how the leaves are falling
                                                                as if fainting

he touched her by mistake,
staggering, almost falling off her feet,
eyes soon enough met,
the light seemed like a piece of mirror
                thrown into them,
                                            shards,
a glassy glow,

    that shine you see sometimes in tears,
on her face as round as a rosy apple,
cheeks high to the sky, the lips careless

he could’ve reached out by accident
to catch her, perhaps, by the waist,
- ask from where she comes,
release her like a veil blown by the wind

Make me a declaration of love, my dear,
Send me expensive gifts,
Hundreds of camels, or a sphinx with a golden crown on his head,  
Annihilating any ray of light,
You will see how the whole world will collapse around me

to catch the rain on the grass crown,
bring the light closer
when
hides behind the horizon:
we also need sunset
arranging his collar,  like the lion's-mouth flower,
she looks at his chest as it rises up, down,
touches his face, soft fingers glide,
antarctica is just an ice cap,
beneath her springs flow, mountains sleep:
we must have a coincidence of floating clouds
like steam
humidity as far as embracing the desert,
calm storm,  leaves
the birds return to the nest:
- and that's all we need?

and look at the moon, see how it swallows its shadow,
to remain still until dawn appears
carolers of your *******
on my forehead
the sweat
with a thirst for death
to bury
at the root
of the grass blade
the sleeplessness

i still admire her as i used to admire a flower,
i still dream of her as only the muses dream
to the stars, and beyond
still,
she seems quite aerial,
pretty, neat in that little red dress
mulatto,
i admire how she curves, how burns like a firework
on her high heels,
elegant,
looks strong like a sultan,
attractive as in the "dolce&gabbana" commercials
looks like she knows what she's doing,
i admire her like a fool and wonder:
will she let me touch her zipper,
to draw butterflies on her belly button,
to let her fly free like a monarch again
on a distant island to dream of spring-waters, and
gather wild flowers with hair in the wind,
to be the mistress of the winds

Я проснулся с глазами, полными снов,
протянулa руку, чтобы обнять тебя,
тебя больше не было,
нет подушки,
ни твой  gillette запах,
ни твои ленивые шаги,
ты уже не был богемным поэтом, каким был тогда в Париже, в полночь,
ты стал строителем, я видел, как ты собирал камни, строил дом на краю света,
у тебя трое детей, жена и коза,
все решено,

Я сварил себе кофе, пью,
Джоп Бевинг поет «Paris s'enflamme».
как падающий лист, я пью,
не теряясь в мыслях,
не говоря ни слова,
дождь моет хмурые от старости дубы,
все чисто, как когда ты родился,
например, когда ты плачешь и слезы омывают твои щеки,
только корни свернулись, скручены и впились в землю,
заботясь о том, чтобы не усыпить лес, не истечь кровью,
как проста жизнь на свете,
как все просто,

Я допил кофе и долго смотрел на него,
остались только основания,
когда думаешь, насколько горечь этого бразильского напитка пробуждает аппетит,
Я в ней не читаю, выбрасываю в мусорку, и
как змея, залезь под пуховое одеяло,
Я лежу в яйце,
что тебе остается делать после того, как ночь украла жемчужину у тебя из-под языка,
спи дальше в норе кренделя,
далеко-далеко от дождя и всех этих выкрутасов, маскарада, хрипловатых стихов,
и говорю себе: - как все просто,
как проста жизнь

Автор:
Мария Митеа

I woke up with my eyes full of dreams,
I reached out to hold you
you were no more,
no pillow,
nor your gillette smell,
nor your lazy steps,
you were no longer a bohemian poet as you were then in Paris, at midnight,

you became a constructor,  I saw you collecting stones,  building a home on the edge of the world,
you have 3 children, a wife and a goat,
everything is solved,

I made myself a coffee, I sip,
Joep Beving sings "paris s'enflamme",
like a falling leaf, I sip,
without getting lost in thought,
without saying a word,
the rain washes the oaks frowning with old age,
everything is clean like when you are born,
like when you cry and the tears wash your cheeks,
only the roots are curled up, twisted&drunk in the ground,
taking care not to put the forest to sleep, not to bleed,
how simple life is in the light,
how simple everything is,

I finished the coffee&looked at it  for a long time,
only the grounds remained,
when you think how much the bitterness of this Brazilian drink awakens your appetite,
I don't read in it, I throw it in the trash, and
like a snake, crawl under the feather duvet,
I lie down in the egg,
what's left for you to do after the night has stolen the pearl from under your tongue,
sleep further in the pretzel hole,
far far away from the rain and all these frills, masquerade, hoarse poems,
and I say to myself: - how simple everything is,
how simple life is

когда ты видишь, как тень ползет от пола к стене,
ветка падает,
Mеркнет заря, смятая в ладонях,
спираль дыма отчаивается в своем поступке,
чтобы не попасться на глаза, отходит в сторону,
эволюция работала над этими голубыми глазами миллионы лет, это не шутка,
ты следишь за каждым движением
как шпион
тень возвращается:
- снова будь диким, нырни в зеленую воду
солнечный полет,
со стрелой в спине,
зовите руки, кричите, плывите,
она прилив в груди,
просто прилив,
луна эллипс конец, цепь,
он вращается вокруг своей оси
как концентратор,
воды разбивают облака, кровоточат между бедрами,
невинность позволяет нам увидеть долины под ее ногами,
не позволяй своим легким растаять в дыму, как забытая родниковая вода
из воздуха,

как трава,
гладкий и нежный,
родниковая вода черпает жизнь из могил,
вне траура,
поэтому ропот похож на крик,
вздох,
и жажда,
голод,
река сглаживает поток,
и ветер оседает на твоей щеке, ждет,
перо упадёт тебе на голову,
в бездне
ждет, когда ты посмотришь на небо, изумленно спросишь: - кто меня бьет,
кто бьет меня каждый раз, когда я пытаюсь найти утешение,
убежище,
умиротворенность,

когда ты видишь, как тень ползет от пола к стене,
ропот возводит любой побег в ранг гениальности


Автор:
Мария Митеа

when you watch the shadow crawl from the floor to the wall,
a branch falls,
the dawn crushed in the palms fades,
the spiral of smoke despairs of its own act,
not to enter your sight, moves aside,
evolution worked on these blue eyes for millions of years, no joke,
you follow every move
like a spy
the shadow returns:
- be wild again, dive into the green water
sunlit,
with the arrow in the back,
call your arms, shout, swim,
she is a tide in the chest,
just a tide,
the moon an ellipse end, a chain,
it spins around his axis
like a hub,
the waters break the sky, bleed between the thighs,
innocence lets us see the valleys beneath her feet,
don't let your lungs melt into smoke like a forgotten spring
out of air,

like grass,
tender and gentle
the spring draws its life from the graves,
out of mourning,
that's why the murmur resembles a cry,
a sigh,
and thirst,
hunger,
and the river smooths the stream,
and the wind settles on your cheek, waits
a feather to fall on your head,
in the abyss
waiting for you to look at the sky, amazed, to ask: - who is hitting me,
who hits me every time i try to find solace,
refuge,
serenity,

when you watch the shadow crawl from the floor to the wall,
the murmur elevates any escape to the rank of genius

so stubborn,
and generous,
it falls
            drop by drop,
it falls
          in the battle like kings,
bringing (us) tears for a feast

if I were to listen to my soul
I would die at this very moment as I write,
the  poem to remain unfinished like a sphinx,

if I were to listen to my soul I would die like the bird that shatters the window with its chest,
-dead,
sleeping in violet flowers,

if I were to listen to my soul I would fly to you like a hawk,

but I don't listen to him, I don't listen to him, and I don't die, and I don't smash windows, and I don't fly,

I drink water, I drink water, and
I am hiding in the grass, waiting for the storm to do it all,

but if I would listen to my soul, alas if I would listen to my soul

i felt you'd come back,
there's no other way
I know her, she likes to cool off in the soft white snow,

with the hand on my heart, I swear,
at the new moon, you are my only lover,
i see her in your lips, as sharp as  fantasy swords,
in them, you have me sweet like blood,

why wait for cactus arms to grow,
and the next flowers to bloom,
  cut the juicy, thorny fruit, red pulp,
we won't wait for the pollination,
days are made for farmers, not  lovers,
how bright, you write, that want to kiss my photo,
but what a photo is? my love, what? if not just paper,
let's bloom in less than twenty-four hours,
let's make them all, all saguaro flowers, die from jealousy and envy,
with hate and madness to **** the desert,

i'll come at night, disguised (as a mexicano bat)
let's make the night our heaven
and the new moon, a snowflake that falls in your olive eyes

(although, once i loved a man with wolf eyes)

i can't touch you,
i'm forbidden to touch you,
to think of you, to sigh
          but i can see the seagulls
flying over the sea
            and screaming
                                and flying
i see how the waves are throwing stones at them
                                                    and they don't look back,

i”m forbidden to look into your eyes
but i can bathe in them like a tear,
and touch your warm cheeks,
until i drown in leaves,
i'm forbidden to kiss you,
but i can look for the summer,

i'm not allowed to touch you,
to sigh,
but i can smell you like an orchid
born without laws, without oaths,
before the sphinx man,
born of steam and smoke,

look, they overpopulate the earth
shooting "arrows" covered in pollen,
                                                        i­­n all directions

My love,
it might seem strange our encounter, and
the words that move the air like an earthquake, from north to south,
                                                          ­                              south to north,
bathing the stars,
and the stars aligning the sounds.


I will tell you more about Snow Town, but you tell me about your heart,
                                                          ­                dreaming of going up north,
where saddened icebergs are melting in the eyes of the ignorant:
- can you hear how hungry white bears are screaming for help,
drowning with their babies.

Do not cry, my love, we still have the old mail post box,
monarch butterflies are bringing me letters from you,
the owls are watching every move
and the turtles
                          keep moving for hundreds of years
                                                           ­   and never get tired.

We are so lucky, my love, so fortunate,
what else we can do if we are made for love, like butterflies.

Tell me, that no land can be more ready, dry-cold-hot
                                than the pole-north & chihuahua desert,
two lovers that only can dream of ice shadows, and the fantom of Georgia O'Keeffe, our mother, still, painting roads in the snow for the blind one,
calling them home.

my love,

just give me this day,
                                   as if we are airplanes, parading, and
flying in between the clouds,
                               gray sky,
clooooouuuuuuds,
like in those black-and-white (II war) documentaries,


i promise,
               not to add other colors to them,
why should i,
                     when the original is the original,  and
it has to remain original,


my love, what is the point in watching colored war movies,
when Africa, like a fire,  was coughed up in the middle

i hide you under my skin
                                 like a war archive, -  a secret code,                    
is not hard at all, it comes naturally, like drawing, or
tyquando,
there is no dominance in the heartbeats market,
without rehearsing twice, they ripe like peaches,
waiting for the next wave to tear apart every cell,

*my love,
like an ingrown toenail , you are hiding under my skin, -
just because we use the same room,
                              hiding and escaping is not the same thing

criminal touch,        infractor that kills on paper,
torment me,
                    torment me,
                                        and let me dream of you,
- have you below the air

      i will  fall on my knees, like a leaf, when
the earth cracks from one end to the other, half awake,
half asleep,
        let me learn your firmness,  drown my eyes in every word,
- a blind man, with the tip of my  fingers i read your blood,
                                                          ­                    your lips -
chaotic, whispering:  - what a calligraphic writing, organized and
without mistakes,

let your rigor entice me, like a spear piercing you,
          passing through the air                        until we become experts,
specialists in criminal law

it's not hard to touch you,

he asked me:
- did you hear the winds last night,
and how the tender branches bent on you
like wings,

i reached home late,
fed the dog,
sipped camomile tea,
covered with stardust,
and drifted away, like an echo, will

last night I slept with the moon in bed,
I didn't close the window like before: -
come in when you want, I told her,
and she came in,

morning arrived,
I woke up, full
the moon
sat on the left side of the bed, with the heart in hands,
the sun rose on the right

All you need  is someone to dream about,
Someone who raises your pulse up as a knight,
Moves the dunes in the sea, warms your palms without
touching you,

Cuts the fog, with no wings, makes you fly above the clouds,
Lighting up like a thunder, lighting up  like a thunder, in the night,
All you need is someone to dream about,

There are games that poets never can win, as dreamers do, in the walkabout,
Forbidden to touch you, but always  rearranging the starlight,
Moves the dunes in the sea, warms your palms without
touching you,

The reader  reads that confession  can harm  or make famous only  the poet,
Without the attempt to evade the hero's journey, and fight,
All you need  is someone to dream about,

And do not wonder, that you sit alone at your table,
When we”ll grow up I want us to have chestnut bights,
Move the dunes in the sea, warm our palms without
touching,

There is nothing in the world that you know better than stones,
And yet, my darling, you crash them in search of diamonds, light,
All you need  is someone to dream about, that
Moves the dunes in the sea, warms your palms without
touching you,

Even if you don't sleep, this night will pass,
It will pass, and
The morning will come, and the sun will rise,
With its rays bright, silky, bushy, without mercy,
Without consolation, it will tear the clouds apart,
Split the sky in two, like a woman in labor,
The day will be born, perfect child,
Perfect reincarnation, without the need to find
The closest point to Earth, the most distant,
It will pass as if it was not, and never will be, again,
It will, slowly, rotate in the way of the Hunting Moon

in the same dream-like spell,
in the name  of now,
in stones
we bury the past alive,

for we shall dance with the birds,
swim with the fish,
walk like monkeys, kissing the earth,
kissing the earth as if
is the last lover,
below the last horizon

Let love be the  blowing wind,

Let love be the crying rain,
Screaming crow,

Eyes to eyes, lips to lips,
Skin to skin,
Life dreams Life, and Love dreams Love,

God dreams God,

Only flowers siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing,

Leeet looove beee the  blooowing wiiind,
Leeet looove beee the cryyyying raaain,
Leeet looove beee the screeeaming crooowww,


While the sun is shining bright,
Shining only for the night,

Leeet looove beee the  blooowing wiiind,
Leeet looove beee the cryyyying raaain,
Leeet looove beee the screeeaming crooowww,

Do you think you can write poetry? messing up with centuries of poetry,
be the best  AI-******* in the poetry world?

Do you think you can step on Shakespeare,& Lermontov, Rumi,
and crash the human soul?

Do you?

the rain is
nostalgic
romantic, and
pretty
like a sad muze,
the best day for poetry to spring, and
breathe fresh air,
somehow,
we,
people, besides whining and complaining about the ugly weather, still get quieter without noticing
that rain, like a peacemaker, is trying hard to make us stop and surrender to life as everything around us
does
make peace on earth as the sky is crying

I don't know how it found  you, but
tonight is the full yellow moon,
it is shining like gold, and the grass is submissive,
the farmers are working hard, cutting it for the cows,

My real lover has come,
he returned, but
he is drunk,
and I don't know how to touch him,
I don't know how to kiss him,

My lover returned -
God is one, has no equal,
but, I don't know how to love  him,
Caresse him

Rockefeller Centre do you have a garbage can,
do you have an electric charger
Rockefeller Centre do you have water,
Rockefeller Centre do you have a happy life???

we learned to sit like birds on a wire,
the bicycle,
unicycle, the backward somersault,
the front somersault, the chair on the wire,
the bed on a cloud,
seated in a hyperloop toilet,
69,
96 in an 8,
jumping through hoops: what we are doing here?
it looks almost unreal, so
we started to reinvent the wire, like emil cioran,
we reinvented insomnia and
the otherness …

it's enough to breathe
to touch you

it's enough to breathe
let your voice sing

it's enough to breathe
to see you come and go
walk like an angel

be
a little dreamer
and (I'll) hold you in my eyes
-  sparkles
under the same shadow
two little dreamers
breathing tears,
planting stars in the soil
while the rain is  craving the grass taste,

is always returning to the sky
so the wind can play with falling leaves

be a little dreamer
when  birds build nests
and i will hold you in my eyes

caresses the guitar with his jelly fingers
he sings "y my love"


the rain is coming anyway
it's coming and lifting you up in the sky


chris rea sings "i don't sleep tonight"
"y my love"


i make love with  the sky,
you make love with the rain

chris rea plays the guitar
"there is nothing to fear"

to dig and dig,  to trace  endless chains of causes and effects,
to dig and dig seems as foolish as trying to build a castle from sand and hope that will touch the sky,

it was a hot burning day,
now is  raining,  and the thunder is turning the sky upside down,
while the lighting, like a God, to be seen,  and wanted, came at my window,  
touched my heart,

is not easy
to find from which spot  of the sky we are falling,
from which cloud

only
the steam pushes you toward me

  the floor is flying, smashed
like marble

lying
under the table
is licking my feet and  
palm

we look at him
swallowing the void like the night is swallowing the stripper,

and the rain falls on the window
  drop by drop

bury my lips in the buds of the rain
until the leaves don't turn yellow on the ******* of the clouds
bury them so I can't say a word
and die thrown into the sky
like a thunder
night after night, with stars on my forehead
   the moon stabbing my chest,  reborn
   like a flame
when your tears dig wells in the grave of silence,
bury my lips in the buds of the rain
like
forgotten
chains of kisses

and leave,
leave as if i don't exist and never existed,

i know you are strong enough, and you are made for this kind of touch,
i promise not to ask you anything, or nag you; i won't cry, won't scream,
i won't run after you, either
or try to pull your sleeve, make you look back,

touch me, like then
when you love someone secretly for years and years and
you dream and dream,
you dream and  pray in secret to die with her, and one day you wake up, stunned in front of her, you wake up
and wait for the wind to play with leaves in her hair and you just pick them gently
and touch her chin, lips and after,
after, you  leave, hunchbacked
you leave
without saying a word, stiff as stones
without looking back

touch me like you have no idea i'm here on earth
and i do my own things and
i have no idea that you are here on earth doing your own things,
but
we know what it's like not to be touched, not to be hugged
while the stars are closer than the eyes,
we know how courage can save the white bird and the blackbird in a blink of an eye,

touch me in your eyes
-in your eyes, as if you are making love to me,
like you're making love to me and we hold each other so tight, so tight we hold each other like we hate each other, so tight
we hate
we hate each other to death

i know you have been dreaming,
i won't disturb your sleep,
we've always been together as if we have one birth one breath,
wildflowers,
wildflowers,
we've always  been together at sunrise and sunset,
we never missed one day one night,
and now,
my darling,
and here,  my dear,  the time arrived and i will kiss you,
and i will give  you a goodbye kiss
as wildflowers have no spare ideas,  and don't care where they grow,
and don't care where they dry
and die,
and they will always be there, somewhere, there, out, like love,
in between the clouds and the stones,
in between the drops of rain and drops of hearts
tangled in the grass, thank god we don't have to cry,
and if we do
there is no need to hide our tears and be the subject of madness
as we can grow anywhere, anyhow, as wildflowers do,
in the soil or sand, in the rain and sunshine,
in the storm,
on the mountains,  and watch the eagles fly and dance,
and watch the eagles as they vanish behind the clouds,
behind the sky

whoooo is there behiiind the skyyy,
whoooo is there behiiind the cloooouds,
and the suuuun when briiiightly shiiiining,
whoooo is there behind the niiiight,

whoooo is there behiiiiind, behiiiind,
whoooo is there my deeeear, my daaaarling,
whooo is there behiiiind the staaaars,
whooo is there behiiiind the staaaars,

whoooo is there behiiiind the raaaain,
when the drops fall dooown and dooown,
who is there behind your miiiind,
whoooo is there my deeear, my daaaarling,

who is there behind the skyyy,
whoooo is there behiiind the cloooouds,
who is there in your heeeeart,
who is there behiiind, behiiind,
whooooooo is there if noooot the wiiiiind,

whooo is there if nooot the wiiind,
whoo is there if not the wind,

You do it wrong!
You can't speak, you do it wrong,
You can not dream,
You can not feel,
You do it wrong,
You can't write, you forgot to put a coma, your spelling is wrong,
Mistakes are embarasing!
You are an analphabet,
They  will slap your hands,
And put you in the corner so everyone can laugh at you.

She grabbed me by the hair hit the writing board and washed the floor with me.

I jumped up like a frog and  stabbed her ******, evel eyes, and stabbed her ugly face with my gaze.
That was the first time in my life when I felt hate. I was seven years old.
I screamed:  you are a witch, not a teacher!  -  great one, September, I just started school and I already hated  it.

She kicked me out of the class.

If i knew how to swear probably i would”v: ******* ugly beach!
******* ugly beach! ******* ugly beach!

In my head I was done with school. It gave me so much relief.

I run to the library.

The library smelled nice, in a mysteriouse way.

The librarian asked me if I have a class.
I told her: -  I finished school.
She blinked smartly and mimicked as if believed me:
- Do you want to pick a book and read?  
- Yes, I can read!
She gave me a book  and I started reading it loud, with intonation as I saw on tv writers were reading:
- You read like a poet, - and smiled.

*

Whatever are those people in your life: parents, teachers, friends that work for evil,
Some would tell you: we have only one menu, and you have to eat it. Oppressed will spread oppression! Do not listen to them!

Do not believe them! No matter who they are and how powerful they consider themself, they are not your authority! 
 Evil takes many shapes and forms to blind you to steal your dreams and strength.

Oppressed will spread oppression! Do not listen to them!
Look into the future! And know that You are a treasure.
There is always a chance and hope waiting for you after the corner!
There is always more to life than evel!

is real,
one more time,
no, no, no
yes, yes, yes

and then listen, and die,
and sing, listen, and die,
and cry,
sing, listen, and die,
quickly
lips
coming down and down like a thunderlight, all
the time, as you would stand with one leg  on the ground
and the other one lifts up like when you kiss for the first time, like in 60”s, and
arms arms arms,
round round round,
lips lips lips,
kiss kiss kiss,

below the sky,

tears tear tears,
falling and falling  and falling

below the grassroots,

în our hearts
we make honey in our hearts, we make honey from our dreams, we make honey
and now we can trade them on our roads,
we can trade them on our roots like we would trade the most expensive menu in a restaurant

she is the flower girl that puts a spin on the edge of the drum bit,
the one that touches the sky and listens to the earth like a smoke alarm