Maybe we will see each other in another universe, another life.
The grief swallows me alive.
The gloomy memories that play,
in the back of my mind; aren't enough. Your voice i can feel but not hear.
Your face that is blurry,
that I cannot see,
cannot be; anymore.

oh death and her serene lap
just let me take a nap
soft cushion like thighs
what would a man do but just cut off his eyes
her smile is divine
her lips have black ****
just a hint of comfort
just a moment of tranquillity
no words can describe you beauty
oh divine miss death take me to your motel
just let me spend a night with my head over your thighs

underneath this steel hides
a tissue heart that is mine—
fragile at the slightest touch.
I surrender my paper heart
to the raging fire,
each fragile piece consumed.
slowly, from these ashes,
a fire rises—a phoenix,
scorching my heart with
molten hatred that numbs.
and so, my once-dead heart,
delicate and frail,
hardens into steel—
a heart that is
unyielding and unbroken.

I visit the dead at
the grocery store,
library,
on the phone
and
in my e-mails.
I watch them  
on TV,
at the beach,
in my dreams
and in the eyes
of crows.

They wear
colorful clothes, and
always want to
sell me on their
way of life.
No thanks, I’m  
calling the whole  
thing off.
I’m going fishing.

I'm coming back, even though light
finds this different horizon.
I am here, although life
sold me at a bargain price.

I see no signes of tears,
I do not know where their shadows
have gone.

I sway on this black wave
of existence, I seek solace
in the scent of hope.

I do not want to look for flaws
of future. There's a wind
blowing inside me
that can't be satisfied with
one maudlin sigh, one lost look.

In love with your past, I am trying
to wake you up from
this long sleep.
I flee from my own loneliness.
I dedicate this farewell to you,
so that you may understand
how much silence is needed to
soothe the sky,
to placate the earth.

The sentence here is unfortunate -
reflections of love
no longer bring remorse.
I slam the door to heaven again.
I open the window to hell.

My first winter thought ends
with a body in which one
can lose oneself.
A heartbeat, a firstborn smile
are unforgettable - everything is an illusion;
its shadow trails behind me
on this poor journey.

I would like to end with a wind
that can carry away wasted tears,
bitten desires,
mismatched silence.

As I follow, I keep an eye out
for fresh traces of tenderness;
too large a dose may prove fatal.
And hatred breeds
as if the Earth were its own.

It boasts of a roadside lie,
a deaf-mute guilt, a sold-out faith.
Your world does not love me -
deceiving life, I give it the name
of loneliness.

I have been abandoned
at the crossroads again - God, will you
remember me when it turns out
that your blood flows in my veins?

I try to awaken in myself such a night
that will not be
a preface to tomorrow.
I want to look at you in the mirror
of longing - all tears will bloom
to yield forbidden fruit.

I know.
The silence will be unfathomable
when the ballad falls silent.
Pain will leave us silence,
unprepared for the journey,
at the mercy of the local
conflagration.

Burnt cities.
The horizon robbed of planets.
Before a raw flame of hope
germinates in me - desires will be poor,
even worse nostalgia,
which once descended to hell.

I will create for you a fertile,
still sleepless world;
everything that has been so far
will transform into a crocheted heart,
conceived by
your tired hands.

There will be no more God, nor man.
Not a single scream will survive.
I will not remember the moment
that became a burden insufficient
to betray loneliness.

The last season of the year will pass.
Future will crave the warmth
of the winter sky.

I come, but I know that
the poem's silence is stronger.
I find enough shade within myself
to share my light
with the silent ones.

I am here, although blissful peace
imitates my soul.
My heart does not fit on the world's plan -
I wait for freedom
to dissolve in my blood.

Imprisoned in my own mind,
I want to feel in you a remnant
of the universe,
a bit of forgotten humanity.

The night, freed from the stars,
is now just an excuse.
A protest that is hard
to admit.
Your exhausted kisses shimmer
on the thin skin of your wrists;
twilight is a sentence
from which you cannot escape.

Eternity makes tears sink under
the eyelid of sleep.
No, nothing else matters
except the past that remains to us.

One day I will understand
that sometimes a tear is enough
to start a new autobiography.
My passion
becomes a curse.