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relahxe Dec 2019
I imagine our bodies lying down
our ears desperately trying to stay awake
so that they could hear the crickets
and enjoy the creek's burble

My eyes told yours "Look, there are tulips nearby"
Your feet are extending to enter the water
There is a drop of sweat on your forehead

My tongue tastes the red apple,
Your mouth once told me it
prefers yellow ones

My mind starts counting how many
red tulips my eyes see, how many yellow ones they perceive
My soul wonders what yours is up to
Does your mind come up with
this scenery
every time
you try to
fall asleep?
Maybe it's just me.

------------------------------------------------------------­-----
The sun is smiling on a beautiful spring day
We are alone, swimming in serenity
Our hands are intertwined,
our souls longing for the same fate
------------------------------------------------------------­-----
I'm infatuated with how my eyes see you through my mind's prism
With the picture they create of you.

I surrender to their imagination - their strength, a weakness in disguise.
I let them mold you, destroy and recreate you.
I know it's all they'll ever see.
relahxe Nov 2019
When I am among the trees,
    especially the willows and the honey locust,
    equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines,
    they give off such hints of gladness.

    I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
    I am so distant from the hope of myself,
    in which I have goodness, and discernment,
    and never hurry through the world
    but walk slowly, and bow often.

    Around me the trees stir in their leaves
    and call out, “Stay awhile.”
    The light flows from their branches.

    And they call again, “It’s simple,”
    they say, “and you, too, have come
    into the world to do this, to go easy,
    to be filled with light, and to shine.”
A poem by Mary Oliver
relahxe Oct 2019
Sometimes I wonder whether will-power is all
that I need in my life in order to feel whole.

If I learn to never follow my instincts
and rather rely on my rational thinking,
will I feel better, will I feel whole
when I scrape off joviality from the edges of my soul?

Won't I feel bitter, won't I feel low
that I have not smiled sincerely since ages ago?

Is everyone capable of experiencing love
or is this what is said by the Man from above?

Aren't we all delusional enough
to blame God and religion that our lives are so tough?

Are we blind for the realization
that all of us are a creation,
perfectly fallible and right, but often wrong,
yet much like a rhythmic sensation in a song?

Why are we rude and envious of others
when we all should behave just like we're brothers?

Everyone is suffering under the rain
perpetually waiting for the arrival of a plane;
a plane that could carry them to another dimension
but we all know that's just an absurd pretension.

Life does fly by and it's a well-known fact,
yet few can even maintain an eye contact
with that beautiful woman or that handsome man,
standing at the corner of the room with no plan.

Life does fly by and it's a well-know fact,
yet it's just an idea, so abstract
as not to even make an impression,
leaving us deal with our own depression.

Life does fly by, yet that woman can't leave
the man she has married, the man that would deceive.
She's lying to herself that it's all for the better,
swaying down the tree's branch just like a feather.

So, don’t be so anxious, so scared and insincere;
Life is indeed too short for that, dear...
relahxe Jun 2019
Two lovely eyes. The spirit of a child
        in two lovely eyes; — music — rays
        They don't want anything and they don't vow…
        My soul is praying,
        child,
        my soul is praying!
The passions and the woes
        will cast tomorrow over them
the veil of sin and shame.
The veil of sin and shame —
        won't cast tomorrow over them
the passions and the woes..
        My soul is praying,
        child,
        my soul is praying…
        They don't want anything and they don't vow! —
        Two lovely eyes. Music, rays
        in two lovely eyes. The spirit of a child…
A translated poem by the Bulgarian symbolist poet and revolutionary Peyo Yavorov, the so called "singer of the soulful abysses".

This is actually a love poem and the child is his beloved one Mina, a 16-year-old girl. Peyo Yavorov wrote it when he was 28.
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