they say that if you drink
enough water you will be healthy
i say that if you shed enough tears
you ll be finally happy.

stormy storm,
do not fade away.
the raindrops falling
as cold rivers
**** the silence and
the lonely loneliness.

the birds hiding,
the bugs diving.
still i see the pretty,
the innocent you.
connection is vital,
transparent and true.

stormy storm,
i feel your anger,
i know your rues.

take deep breaths
before summer comes.
the hot heavy air
once inhalated
destroys the coldness
of the mind, of the body.
spontaneous fires
light up in people and
burn as wildly as the sun.

summer is heaven?
it heats and heals,
but slowly withers
the green, honest souls.
summer is freedom?
the sky is clear,
the moon is tenderer,
we feel the night.

a pretty fall,
a blushing evil fairy,
summer will become the all;
a steamy world,
in which
the lovely shady trees
the ocean breeze
will be a dead touch.

my cracked walls are full
of printed poems.
black and white.
but the emptiness
can have many colors;
so i choose the blue.

it s almost summer
and the sun reflects on
the white, guilty
pages of your book.
close it! and wait till
a translucid cloud
covers the star.

do you feel the coldness
in the heavy air?
do you feel the shivers
when i read those
beautiful lines pinned
to the walls and to my heart?

there is nothing
to hold on to.
memories, ilussions,
clouds, all gone.
but it's still so beautiful
when true life itself
puts you in a trance.

if i showed you the lines
i write after i cry,
after i stopped the world
by closing my eyes,
after i miss the sunrise
because of taking the bad ride,
after i dance alone
when all the life is gone.
if i showed you the lines
i hide
i am sure we will both cry.

wish i could take a glance
at the lands behind the sun;
are we indeed the lucky ones?

huge spheres and stars fail
to fill the biggest void of all,
yet people complete people
and love is methaphysical.

people invented death,
but some of us feel immortality,
not me, not you, but those
who got their name carved
in the sky of other blue dimensions.

how can we live
a life that was not lived before?
we cannot anymore.
we are just parts of the universal soul.

that spring i had to leave
before the lilac trees bloomed.

the hills of peace slowly changed
to the streets washed with bleach.

empty mountain dew bottles
on the pavement
took the place of the grass.

this city was never going to grow
because people were always so upset
about days with rain.

three weeks in
i caught myself wondering.

wondering if:

if the color of the lilac i left was
as purple as a healing bruise?

if i climbed their tower blocks
could i see the other side?

if the time were to stop
would that still be called eternity?

then a lifeless object rang
and reminded me
to get back to my new life.

the imagine of the budded trees
slowly erased from my mind.

yesterday i decided
where i will run away to-.
i wrote the coordinates in black
on a blue colored paper
and threw it
in my childhood friend's garden.

i also called a star after
my first lover's name;
that star will be my home.

i will travel just at night
because i know that all the people
that pretended to care about me
are all so afraid of the dark.

....and i will begin to write
about my life as a youth,
but by the time they recongnise me
i will be gone, diving
into cherry blossom water
and bittersweet freedom.
i will dye my hair
light ocean blue and
finally settle myself
in the first city i fall in love with.
i will spend nights
at karaoke famous clubs
dedicating songs to old faces
and i will spend mornings
sipping lavender tea at fancy cafés
observing those people
who will never die.

but i know that, in the end,
none of these will be part of me
for eternity.

a scared girl who thinks is brave
because she ran away.

tonight i slept with
my windows wide open.
now, i am part of this world.
i feel it, it doesn't feel me.

400 000 people in this city
have their own warm
incandescent light.
my friend was crying
on the floor of her house;
all dark.
one lady was listening loud
to the song that defined
her life.
but all i heard that night
were the sounds of peace,
coming from the shaky leaves,
the sleepy urban dogs
and the fast red motorcycles.

last week, a black car
appeared out of nowhere
while i was riding my bike
on a busy street.
the headlights burnt my eyes
and my fingers clung to
the handle bar.

i think i died once then.
i passed the initiation.
now, it is time to risk.

this thing with two wheels
is everything i own.
New York is 200 miles away.
i am going to ride the bike
that once brought me to death
to the most golden
point.

can you be my
favourite person
and can i be yours?