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If I had a wish,
what would I wish for?

I would wish for you
in the next life.

But then, would you ever wish
not to be with her?
Teachers are like stars
who light up dark minds,
like the sky on a moonless night.

Their light doesn’t burn,
but soothes young, innocent minds,
guiding them on their path
towards their destination.

Many teachers touch our lives
along the way—
each bringing new wisdom.
Some shine softly,
while others stand out
like brilliant stars.

But just like every star
gives away its light
to brighten the night sky,
every teacher plays a part
in making our life
a success story.
feeble fragile creature
victim of users guile
happening all the time
female, male, voices
hard to ignore

baby talk, toddler
adolescence

prime of life, midlife
old

silent, forgotten
gravestone.
selected memory
biased
twisted truth

****** giveaway
lying
forked tongue
the blue and white sky
hidden gemstones

rainmaker and snowstorm
crystalised dreams
When you laugh

It is waking at night
Beneath a waterfall

Seeing clear through
The veil

To a multitude of stars
The scattered words disturb the silence.
I prefer written pages with my left hand,
But it is trembling too much to write slowly
I miss him, his calm hands giving juicy oranges.

Shattered glass falls in slow motion,
Screams in the apartment,
Just the neighbor next door.
Another struggle,
Another soundless fracture
From the outside,
It’s not visible
What really hurts.

I have my refuge.
My piano and fingertips
Strike the rhythm,
Racing to speak in time.

What I want to repeat to myself
It isn’t lush or gentle,
Only barren,
like thoughts hung on a dry twig.
I trace figure eights,
Locked in a simple shape.
I stare and cannot fathom
The logic of a cold two plus two.
A thought-form circles
Around the blue planet.

Something pointing,
With its mercury finger.
It speaks in an unknown dialect
It shows the place to live
And huge fluorescent deserts.

The clouds’ minds —
A piece of earth
Soaked in different
Kinds of screams.

This is my blind chance.
I was born here.
In my mother’s paradise garden
Spinning in dawn’s glow.
Sometimes I just write
To ease personal and common guilt.

I hear tattooed numbers,
Granting citizenship of the lower caste.
And here,
The fresh scent of good life in the morning.
Blackbirds and thrushes fell silent.
My mother knows how to speak to them,
I know how to speak with trees.

Everything pulses,
On this small piece of earth,
Giving shelter to creatures
And stones no one throws.
I am here in a place I can happily bear,
Without cold speculation.

I can still dive into metaphors,
This is my greatest luxury,
The gift after so many disturbing lives.

It would be better to create a world
With only diverse breathing gardens.
I don’t need too much for living,
A naked soul is enough for me.

So, I am sitting in this landscape
And I peacefully hope
That my daughter will remember me tenderly
As I remember him, my father
And all who passed away.

The simplest thing is
The presence of every human being
It's like a celluloid film strip
Left behind the broken ribs
In the left ventricle of the heart
That never lies, never cheats me.
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