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!

A city man met with a villager man.

The village man talked about his work in the fields when the city man stopped  him by saying:

“ Do you know that the city people have invented large airplanes that can fly through the air?”

The villager was deeply impressed.

The city man went on “We have got great boats that can cross the oceans”

The villager was even more impressed.

The city man continued “ We’ve got cars on the road that drive at tremendous speed”.

After all,
The villager asked the city man:

“ The man in the city, you are talking about,
Who flies through the air, and moves through the ocean can he still walk on his two legs?”

The underworld movement
makes me feel utterly incapable, and grown
feet condense into droplets of freezing blood, as I wait at Dostoevskaya station, where the intimidating marble has a soul of its own.

I Look
into the deep earth and I have eyes and I have depth, and I have speed, as I am earth moving through earth from all perspectives, apparently, I think and I know, but how do I reach there? at Prospect Mira,
I asked auntie Liudmila, while she was selling sunflowers at the Lyublinsko station, and I was running to catch up my breath beyond the boundaries in which has been conceived, while the worldly murals violate the norms and  “The Idiot” reaches greatness on the Moscow walls silhouettes wrestling on a mortal terrain; his umbra, my umbra. Whose and which, and when? I simplify it down to the breath and keep running.
What a rush?

When the geometry of  sombra
seems to have a life of its own on the underworld walls, above the surface arrogance takes shape believing that it is more intelligent than, I who can see the train coming. Uncertainty won’t bother impotence resting on earth’s shoulders, and Sleeping Giant can wait forever for the lost sailor.
What a blessing!

The blanket hugs Earth's chest, and steps move holding bouquets of sunflowers while gazing like a thief, whose big eyes are
rolling on the ground, “don’t you see how steps flow with Parisian prudence, I am brave and happy on top of Your Eiffel.”  When?  
the eyes become wizards of clouds, and
“I”- Rest in wonder.
How Long?

I feel
the burn in my chest,
as the sunny dream chops its edges.
I run “happy” warming up in “ La vita è bella, ”
while the soles of my feet are burning
into the dark earth. Who cares? only
into the dark earth roots grow,
all lilac is still there at the Moscow Metro, while illusion succumbs to temptation running faster and
Harder,
the underworld has a life of its own,
a life of greater depth and purity, while
my eyes touch the cold striking murals, and
the book falls on the
Whisper

Not again,
I thought you settled the matter of
unattainable, while lilac was waiting, on my way, eating the cherry gem with
the spoon touching Earth's lips, and only
auntie Liudmila is content for selling every
sunflower that day her glowing eyes soothe in hypnotizing beauty at the Moscow Subway,
I let it be!

sunrise promised to wait for us
the dawn did not rise over the village,
in the eyes of the muses
the dawn promised to wait for us

muses are not like poets,
not even like the sun
that
burns its rays on the cascades moved by lazy waves,

- the dawn did not rise over the village,
the down promised to wait for us,
swore to the muses,
swore that the water would comb at the rising sun
  smoothly
it will burn in his eyes like the star of the night while planting a garden
where
the muses smolder all year round like flowers, or
like coal extracted from the hearts of poets,

i'm lying in the grass, looking at a cloud,
it seems to be looking at me,
intently does not move,
suddenly, like an angry man, with chaotic movements,  angry begins the disintegration into a hazy color,
disappears like smoke,
not far away are some large stones also lying in the grass,
on one of them i see a cat, it looks at me with bright eyes as if it sees me from far within,
i keep looking into the void,
two dragonflies make love and how in ******* jolts they die together, oh
ugh

- Silence
disturbed by crickets,

(like a spectator lying in the grass, i suddenly startle and hope not to step on any living creature or
dead, but
only grass knows)

Your memories will always be the treasure of your soul,
Good, less good, light as the sun's rays
Or heavy as a well stones,
Protect your memories
And stop fighting for the man without a past,

Let the memories make you happy in the sadness of the day,
Today and tomorrow,
Do not chase them away like fierce enemies,
How to live in a world without a past,
How to lose the love for what we lived,
And the pain we felt,

Let them caress your soul like a feather in a dream,
When only the stones see you and the dogs boo you,
And the knot tightens in your throat,
At times, memories are the only one soothing you,

And the only one calling for hope at the table of pain,
And the only one calling  the desire in the bed of love,
And the only one that fight as can fight.

Today,
I plainly could see your infinite demure.

Today,
I understood your yearnings for bluejays and loons.

Today,
You cuddled me with all your splendor and virtue.

Today,
You loved me as your own child.

Today, Canada
I am crying with tears of joy.

DESIRE:  ~ is Movement

The desire to change has to be greater than the desire to remain the same.

I desire ~ I move ~ change starts with movement ~ change happens ~ I move~ I desire ~ I move ~ change starts with movement ~ change happens ~ I move ~ I desire ~ ~ ~

~A flower has a greater desire for blooming then remaining in the bud.
~ A baby has a greater desire to grow than staying little.

Nature always has a greater desire for restoration and renaissance, then decay ...
~
Honour your Nature every day,
Find out what you want! (for real)
~
Move, Move, Move,  ...

Change doesn’t happen without movement!

On the other side of the village, there lived an old woman.
Every day, she walked barefoot on a country dusty road,
passing by our neighborhood.

In the summer, we played all day long in the dust,
We, curious children, asked:
- Why do you walk barefoot when every villager wears sandals?

She didn’t answer, she didn’t speak.

We, waggish kids, threw at her feet thorny branches.

One day my mother heard us giggling in front of the gate,
as we planned an attempt to hide some stones in the dust,
and cover it well, make it unnoticed, wondering if she can hit her feet,
bleed and scream from pain, and scorn us all ...

“ Why do you do these children?
Don’t you have any respect for old people?

You better ask her  those words of healing, only she knows in this village!”

Big curiosity, and fearful eyes, looked at each other.

The next day, all children in the neighborhood were waiting for the barefoot “witch”  

It rained for one week!
When it stopped raining,
She walked barefoot again.
She walked towards me.

Silence dropped down from the sky,
and silence rose up from the ground,
and trees stopped moving their branches,
the leaves watched her touch my forehead.
My heart stopped beating.


She touched my forehead and after whispering to herself,

“ White little bird, fly in the sky, fly back to the ground,
touch the hard rocks,
White little bird, swim in your mother’s milk,
breathe fire in your wings,
breathe fire in your wings,
fly again into the blue sky, and again return on the ground”
~
I never learned those words she whispered to herself, but
I have repeated them every day since then.
~

I will worship you
with a smile
humble and bright
pure spell
without words

I will worship you
with deep eyes
in fruitful awareness

The eyes see,
but no eye
can touch
the fruit of the tree

I will worship you
when on the eyelids
flow quietly
the beauty beyond

the best thing on earth is when you breathe
and the night, like a lollipop lures you, by bringing you sweet sleep,  sometimes
and  other times taking it away,
and when you're alone and taxes don't scare you anymore,
and  the rent no longer is waiting for you, the wife is threatening no one,
children stopped screaming, we want, dad doesn't leave but he doesn't wake up either,
the best thing is God, -  God takes you in his arms like a man patched up with love
and you close your eyes and dream how the best thing on earth is to breathe freely

At the bottom of the earth,
Where the mother of the wind lives,
and the flowers of the graves
spin the yarn of wick thoughts.  

At the bottom of the earth,
Where butterflies flap their wings
on the paths of bungling scalpers,
hoping that the mother typhoon’ll move the sand grain of barren spirit.

At the bottom of the earth,

The mother of the wind is senseless,

The mother of the mountain fires life and forges death,

The mother of the sea’s whirling its flow upstream,

The mother of the winter unfreezes
the wings of the blizart on the icy stones,

The mother of the roses draws breath
from the fragrance of grief,

The mother of the wildernes’burning
the roots of thirst,

The mother of the black sea’sipping life from palmier trees,

The mother of the moon running trough iron clouds, like nebula through the light,

The mother of the earth gives, and gives, and gives,
Gives you everything you need,

At the bottom of this earth,
Only you human are dreaming to stay caved in eternity.

Love your children!
Love your children sincerely
And groom them with Godly love,

Don't punish them
When bread crumbs fall out
Of their mouths
On the polished floor,
Don't put your blame on them,
Do not  use small things
To beat them,
Don't steal their innocence,
And purity of Self,
Don't blame them,

Pray!
Better pray!
Not for polished floors,
But for their fragile souls,
When they hid and cry
In the upstairs room,
Where the bird stoped
to build its nest,

Pray!
To find their own  purpose
In the flow of life!
Love your children!

Love sincerely, without disguise
Encourage them with gentle words,
And guide them with good works,
Listen when your children speak!
Then you know what to ask,
Ask, what do they think, what do they want,
Don't impose your adult thoughts on them,
Raise your children in self-respect,
The greatest treasure of life,
Self-respect rests
In listening to your children
Dear Parents,

The child is a human like you

Be a parent with eyes and ears
Don't just think about what
You mean, and judge,
You are not the owner of the child,
You are the guide,

The  children are  humans like you,
They came here not for your will,
Not for you, for them, they know better,
And they feel better than you,
And they see better than you,
And don't laugh and shame them
When they speak the truth
And don't scold them
in front of strangers,
Learn from them too!

Ask them!
Ask them how do they feel,
Be the mirror of clear water,
The water where they can see
The brightness of their faces,
Don't force them to admire you
Only you,
Grow them in a clear light,
Give them love as a parent
And don't look to
See yourself in them,

Do not use the child!
Do not use the child!
To exalt yourself in glory,
Give them love as a parent,

Understand how it feels when you put
Your own expectations in them,
Don't ruin their dreams
With your own desires
Don't ruin their life and search
your dreams to come true,

Understand how do they feel
when you force them to think like you,

Children are the miracle of God,
Pure light in the stream of life,
God entrusted you
Grow them with love,
Let them think for themselves!
Let them be for themselves!
Encourage them to make
small decisions at an early age,
Give them space to practice
Self-being, self-respect,
Life fills them with its calls,
Be present with a hug,
Don't force them  to live your destiny,
As they have their own destiny to fulfill!

Cultivate self-respect!
Let them  fill their own  life
given by the will of God!

Otherwise,
Children will lose themselves in us,
Who wants a lost child?
A lost child that will seek
Him/Herself/ Themselves for a lifetime,
No one!
Life doesn't want lost children,
Lost children from their own roots,

The time has come
Be kind to your children!

it is a shadow

of the tree
dark lighting
at the zenith of the day, tasting
the sweat on man”s forehead

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

of grass
opaque existence
angle of light
in the calmness of the earth

the child of the sun
it is a shadow, silently
following the man
to the water spring
in the valley of springs,

the mother sun
quenches its thirst
with the tears of the earth,

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

i just found out today that on poemhunter.com
on the 26th of January, The Child of The Sun was selected as the  POEM OF THE DAY:
and this makes me very very happy  🙂

The Child of The Sun

it is a shadow,

of the tree
dark lighting
at the zenith of the day, tasting
the sweat on the man's forehead

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

of grass
opaque existence
angle of light
in the calmness of the earth

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

silently
following the man, to the water spring
in the valley of springs

the mother sun
quenches its thirst
with the tears of the earth

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

One little hand could not stop the cup from
dropping like a giant on the country wood floor,

“We need a cup factory in this home” I hear the voice of frowning walls

In a fraction of a second, I am the child that breaks the cup.

I want to hide when mother’s voice flows like a honey river
“Leave the child alone, don’t you see that the cup asks for mother’s love”

O,  broken cup filled with mother's love
on the country wood floor.
You loved the child,

“darling take the broom and clean the floor,
when walking no one gets hurt.
Let me know if you do need help”

Her soft voice makes the broom dance and sing, and
the wood floor clean, shining back love to all children that ever broke
the cup,

all we need for lifelong doves is a broken cup
glued with mother's love

on that day
she performed the dance
in a mortal silence

lustful intensity,

the unusual
exit with the back
was hiding her face
without any wave of hope,
the eyes
where
seeking consolation,
her spine
became alive
like a tempting serpent,
arms
were wavy wings
a cry for help,
legs outstretched
like two cello strings
rising
under the guidance
of internal forces,

the pirouettes
faked
with a great talent
the lack of courage,
as a sacrifice brought to the air
she kept doing
dozens of rotations
as if
the body
was anointed
with the dark air,

then,

it fell into its arms
like a wet coat,

every movement
spoke
again and again
"I love you
and
I hate you",

sun rays
died
in a light
that bowed obediently
under  the public eyes
riveted
like a forest
of frozen trees,
waiting for
what's next

We'll have to choose dear
we shall
to choose not between the colors of the sky or the earth,
religion and God
We must pick it up dear, we must
pick
not the stars of the night, nor the flowers of the day,
secretly, my darling, secretly
we shall
extract this tear from the past that never left
and  didn't even start like a lightning
without death
and no answer, we shall, my  dear
begin with ”the end”, like on the big set of paramount pictures,
let's put this spiky cat on the wall
and return, free and happy, like the first people,
ladybug,
carry me on your palms, darling
i”ll hold you close to my chest like an armful of dry branches
good for fire

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

you,
gentle beast
touching my skin like King Midas

me,
excavating your iced eyes and
devouring them raw with tenderness
and overindulgence

When obscurity disguises itself in distinct knowledge,
And ignorance claims to be adequate intelligence,
Confusion conveniently establishing as the norm,
Excluding any possibility of contradiction, ...

Use it!
Not to give you what you want,
but free another heart from pain.

Use it!
As an act of selfless blessing of
appreciation only you can transmit.

Use it!
As a reminder to others of how much they are valued,
some of us have been waiting for a long, long time to hear it.

Use it!
With the sincerity of heart,

Turn it!
Into a selfless Offering!

My Dear,

How do you want me to write you?
- in the fire, on the edge of a knife,
or rolling in penguin feathers,

Do you remember those times?
- writing me with  big bird feathers,

Do not mind me,
I have enough crazy thoughts today,
an idea came to my mind,
- to learn all the tricks in the art of beggary,
Do you think it would make a difference?

Could I be the best beggar in all world,
it would be enough for me to have your mercy,
squatting all hungry in cold, freezing weather,
thirsty and sick laying down on the street corner,
hunched like the Hunchback of Notre-Dame,
or if I cut off my hands, my feet, pulling out my eyes,
if I couldn't, - If I could not,
does that mean I can't have you,

Don't pay any attention to what I say,
plus, I messed up the days,
I thought it was Friday
and maybe if I learn this art I'm talking about
your heart lets you visit me tonight,
so we can touch with our eyes, with our lips,

- better ignore me as the last beggar in the world,
ignore me as a gentleman who knows what he wants from life
and knows how to easily handle a cane and a hat in front of a street mendicant,

And yet,
I think if you were a beautiful young girl and I would be the miserable beggar,
would I succeed in winning her heart,
kiss her lips with the flattery of humility,
touch her ******* with my hands trembling from the disease of begging,
crawling at her feet and kiss them with the passion of a blind cadger,

If God came to test my talent and I would pass,
Would you receive it? - would you accept everything that was left in me,
and I, approved by the one above, to be happy with what is left in you,

Would it make a difference? - would it,

you will never know where you forget it
or lose it,
the night is an overstuffed  suitcase
that you never know when it will open wild,

i saw you walking, even more
i touched you a little with my elbow
everywhere
on the platform, it opened like the mouth of a boa constrictor,
i see myself running with a red ribbon in my hand,
for the first time, we are face to face
overwhelmed by our presence
we become dwarfs: ”poems, poems,… how much lipothymia,
these poems really did it to us, it brought us into exasperation ”- you bite your chapped lips,
i look at your fingers, searching  to hold a cigarette between your lips
no words
naive, i repeat "stay, stay", the train is coming
it's time to live, you lift your suitcase (tightly tied)
i see a rabbit with wet, bright eyes running,

it's autumn, the leaves are like red ***** hanging in the trees,
i clench my teeth, my hands, my eyes tighten, again
determined i want to squeeze all the pain (i would make a fat must),
i want to slap my face,
so, i wake up
to remember how in school i had to learn the names of every war battle,
to learn the name of each river, bridge,
the name of each soldier,
if i knew them, i would be given a red pioneer tie
(which needed to be ironed and kept close to my bed)
at night
stuffed like an old suitcase
the train leaves,
as if through the fog I see you on the platform: - do you want a cigarette,
- thank you, i don't smoke.

(the smoke rolls like a boa constrictor)

the onion in father's hands didn't have time to cry,
with his fist punched it on the corner of the table, spread salt and
ate it with sheep's cheese,
(like the builders of the pyramids, my dad was paid in onions)

the onion in my mother's hands was sweet and made many leaves,
spring after spring she shared it throughout the village,
people were wondering: how does not bring tears,


every time I have an onion in my hand I think,
to clean it with my hands,
cut it with a knife, or
punch it with a fist,

the onion in my hands
is waiting

is not about how deep i love you

it is about me, being a little firefly
now resting in the grass

Came gently sneezing at my turned-up nose
when hiding under the soft wool blanket.

Winter mornings came with promising poetry,
heartening the warm bed and inviting me,
Poetry that smelled like burned wood,
infused with the smell of grey blackish ashes,

Keeping the dress sleeves rolled up,
and the hair with very much care combed
back in a solid hair bun, like a trusty guardian,

My mother,
started every winter morning,
bended on her knees,
like in a pray
in front of winter stove,
like in a pray,
cleaning the stove,

She kept silent while cleaned the ashes,      
Ashes, that warmed the house and cooked the food,
Ashes made the hot tea soothe,
Ashes made the popcorn dance and jump,
fly on the floor, and fly on the table  
‘till we started popcorn fight,
popcorn flew in many mouths,
popcorn flew everywhere in the warm house.

Ashes of burned wood,
I could not understand,
its fire and heat took care of our roots,
penetrating our hearts like gold dust.

My mother’s silence every day cleaned
the winter stove from burned wood
with devotion and zest,
Getting it ready for a new day fire,
Getting it ready to cook borscht.

it stops in the heat of the day and picks your wildflowers.
it's coming. it certainly comes. out of the world. ones.
white moths will flutter their wings at your years
"if you want. come to dinner. we”ll be us ”

for fear of another step back. every second asks incessantly
"what could have happened"
the eyes remained fix on that crucifix.
chain hanging on the rearview mirror "

a heart that splits in the rain.

- it hurts ... but no ... I can't open the door.
"let's run. run with me. now"
one last look disappears in the flood of rain.
*
it can hit. anyone. anywhere. anytime.
in silence ... keep your hand on the door handle.
if not. we can say "it was the tyranny of time"

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

that I've died so many times
my body has forgotten how is to be ash,
ordinary mortals fill me with jealousy (of the gods
and those who were trying to test the hemispheres of death
they couldn't find out much,
they failed,
accusing me of being a fanatic captivated by the talent of dying,
- a madwoman running after extinctions,

I recognize,
death seems to be a joke that you cannot compare with the ecstasy in the ***** of love, nor with the light on the buds of the *******,

rounded ivory *******,
lips salty as tears,
everything burns
It burns in the fire,
It burns until you start breathing;
in you, in others, in the first cry, kiss,…
breathing  until you wake up,

in death,
as in life, we ​​are so visible,
and so invisible
since we were born,
and since we died,
our body moves through other bodies,
as the green moves through the leaves of a forest
and I breathe you like a green,

when I last died all that was left was one breath
which in the absence of a body infiltrates inside other bodies,

Indeed, when you breathe the walls of the heart emit light signals,
  I breathe you carefully, like a newborn
on whose face radiates a playful laugh,
apply small prana breathing techniques
(I hope you don't mind)

the entrances and exits of your chest are green paths,
without a way in or a way out to allow promises in the movement of love,
you talk about standing fixed in love, why? love is movement,
frozen love  is not even death, but a wall waiting to be torn down
even after a thousand years of waiting

I breathe through your blood; with thought, with soul, with eyes, with hands,
I run with my lips, I breathe you,
It's the unthought that breathes you in abundance
and above love, and that which I think.

Today,
I just wanna die in your arms,

I hope that you took the CPR course
to save me!

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

it is always the same
restless and sad
one for all, like the sun
like the moon
flowers
tears

only the words change

it is covered by fall leaves
and washed by the rain
hit in the hard rocks by
the ocean waves

the earth sinned yesterday

the silence of yesterday
forgot about the wings that caressed the wind,
the wind
also no longer wears the leaves in its hair, - brides lying in the soft grass,
the grass
does not count stars anymore, does not  wash its head in the clouds,
with the thread glued to the ear of the earth, it is listening to the silence after the silence, probably
it will snow tomorrow
slow
&smooth
&white
white, at the edge of the forest, it will snow again, and the bear's tooth
stuck in the trunk of a tree will again give birth
  two or three bears helpless, furless and
blind,
but
it won't be a problem, nursing them until the second spring
they will grow very very fast
as always

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,

i didn’t steal your sun
i stole your smile last night, when
my dreams kept you busy with dreaming, for a
faraway land,
where people grow smiles in the rain,
and love’s born from lotus mad,

now your smile shines on my lips,
is honey for the nordic bees,
uplifts my eyes into the clouds, my face
radiates fireworks,
everyone asks me “ what did you do?
you look so beautiful?”,
words are resting in silence,

i wish i could tell them,
i am only the thief who stole your smile, when
dreams of your night kept you busy with dreaming

~
Born in pain
Driven by hunger
Smouldered by passion
Blinded by love
Swallowed by things
Devoured by fear,
Liberated by death
~
Born again in pain
…

Why?

Do you treat me this way,  -  a place for burial,  
Why do you treat me  -  like i’m nobody  - ?  
-  With you being someone  -

Don’t you feel? -
- how i’m breathing underneath your feet,

Don’t you feel?  -  i’m a living nest  -  the birthing of new life,  
-  With the seed in my womb  -  i’m crying!  -  Why?

~   using
our intelligence
to manipulate
people   ~

to find a balance between the feeling of uselessness
and that of the need to fight,
between the certainty of inevitable failure
and the inevitable imperative,

we need more hospitals

i say, we need Mothers

they tell me, we need more money

i say, we need Mothers

they tell me, we need more schools

i say, we need Mothers

they tell me, we need war, revolutions, power

i tell them, we need Mothers, we need Mothers
Mothers we need,  Mothers
i scream,  we need Moooothers

not the time to invent something new
this is the time to remember
…

I want to live in a world,
where I can smile,
I want to live in a world,
where I can cry,

I want to live in a world where,
when I cry, there are people,
there out are people that see me crying,
and these people that see me crying,
they come and hug me,
and I hug them back when I am crying,
they come and hug me,
with all their heart.

This is the world
I want to live in.

I want to live in a world where,
when I smile, there are people,
there out are people that see me smiling,
and these people that see me smiling,
they give me their own smile,
and we smile together,
and we together laugh,
from all our heart,
we together cheer up.

This is the world
I want to live in.

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

do you have a chariot to fly through the blue sky
and flocks of thirsty stars,
this night is all yours,
wait at dusk, darling
wait, and meet the night and day kissing,
be ready, break the spell, if you want
have me,
be my fighting dreams, bring the sweetness of your lips,
tonight we can taste what is like to be night and day kissing in the dusk.