Did you know in whose hands
my desolate evenings die?
Do you remember
how painfully
I needed silence, when the crowd
shouted against the sky,
against fruitless hope?

I'm running away from the Earth,
I'm hiding in the attic
of my heart; among the deposits
of dust I find
your fulfilled tears
and my unrequited letters.

I am stuck in longing to the very top
of my soul. I try to erase
fear from a graphomaniac autobiography.
Nostalgia will come back
to draw the stars for you,
to soothe the smile
that is too vast to talk about future.

No one cares about my dawn;
I wake up to find at last
the right hour,
which, within the limits
of patience and forgiveness,
will remain a fulfilled desire.

Will my heart find its way back
to solitude? Will the night be lost
when I admit to
an inappropriate guilt?

in my periphery, a messenger arrived
carrying the sadness and the news of goodbye
“the roses you sent died out on their way before they could bloom
the dreams you planted were set on fire by the demons you fought”

now walking alone on the empty streets at night
staring at the moon wondering if you’re looking at it too
i would talk to moon thinking you’re hearing on the other side
beyond the seas, you were still close to me

Staring at the sky, pink-blue
That just cried its eyes out, dark-maroon
Emptiness from the inside, don’t know what to do
Close my eyes or hide inside my room
I cry in veil
As the man cut my wings
The defeat led to my feet
His actions, his words
Still haunts my existence
Should I stay or die?

The old man eats his TV dinners,
He's never learned to cook.
He believes it's a woman's job
But he never quite has the nerve to approach one.
Sure, there have been some
But far & in-between.
They don't stay long,
Bar the ones who have been there
Not to love but to take.
But he was smart enough
To cut them off
And not ache for a connection
Even if it wasn't genuine.
He has sense enough
Yet, not exactly a kind which is common.
For he finds it hard
To stand on ground equidistant.
But what is normal?

Is it such a thing as loneliness or love
Which more people take apart of?
In love there is loneliness,
Just as in loneliness there is love.
Whether it is from hearts together
Who can't stand each other,
Or from hearts seperate
Yet readily love one another.
Is it such a thing as loneliness in love
Or love in loneliness
Which more people find themselves in?
Of the equal strength it takes to stay
There is someone stronger in leaving,
Of the equal weakness it takes to wane
There is someone weaker in longing.
Yet, of the unrequited,
These are but fancy words
Which don't always flower to fruition.
And love can be won through persistence,
But to some it is akin to attrition.
The foundation of it loose & unstructured,
Rather than unbound & liberated.

Perchance, by the eye which beholds;
Some think it cowardly -
Some think it bold.
To go on loving, nonreciprocal.
To go on loving, unconditional.

I'm bored.
Bored of sitting around.
Bored of being accompanied but still feeling alone.
Bored of being up but still feeling down.
Bored of being brave but still feeling scared.
Bored of being connected but still feeling divided.
Bored of moving without movement, talking without speaking, living without living.
So I'll just lie in wait,
Waiting for a light in the dark,
Waiting for order in this chaos,
Waiting for a way out of it all,
I guess that's life; so I'll have to get on.
I'm bored.

Glimpses of the wind that carries
your breath into the sleepless distance.
The emotions of the stars -
their rust-colored eyes
no longer see future.

The skies, stripped of their blueness,
are today only sadness,
an uncertain journey to existence.

I dreamed of an omnipresent time -
I meticulously defended nearby bodies,
I pretended that my own heart
was not due to me.

The embryo of humanity stirs within me -
hope fades, loyalty to freedom perishes.
The airiness of longing hides from
me the whisper with which
I dared to adorn my thoughts.

I am too sleepless to be born
without doubt. I raise my own world
from my knees - it is not far from here
to the last heaven.

I am only a favor for which it is worth
shining piously. I would like to create
my own paradise in you.

Unknown cities. Summarized sentences,
none of which exist
as a question. I am here
to awaken the night in you - too far away
to think about reality.

The present? Who thinks about it?
Is this another illusion?
Or maybe the exchange of answers
was too vigorous?

Pray on your conscience - the cloud,
entangled in your dreams, is a prelude
to the apocalypse. I would like to revive
memory, but I know:
a cry chases silence.

I came into existence to draw
the penultimate dawn in you.
I was born amidst desires, none of which
match your gaze.

I delight in the solemn present;
I watch from all sides of the world
this one needle through whose eye
my complaint about
the local wind escapes.

I wanted to get lost in life, but the reserves
of solitude were exhausted,
desire got lost.

Tired, ruined mornings,
when your shadow looks at itself
in a broken mirror.
The tree, bending under
the weight of forbidden fruit,
shivers, blown by a foreign breeze.

Lack of sleep -
your happiness
is an excuse. What good is it
that future has lied to me,
when insomnia is so blissful?

Here is another sold tear - its night
is not conducive
to the presence of stars.
I failed at the introduction
to the autobiography.
I got lost in light - the unknown
was heralding;
I got lost in an existence
that still protests, fights to lose.

The touch is shapeless, aimed straight
at the heart. I renounce the last greeting -
I am here to remain you.

Clouds, fawning at the feet,
bring an end to eternity, give hope
to the one who has despaired
of memory.

I have built my own private meaning
with the help of light.
I have decorated sinful thoughts
with words - I wish to dedicate
them to you.

What to choose: closeness of the heart
or distance of the soul?
The experiences are obscure,
defective, unwanted.
I try to find you among
the few heartbeats - you disappear
before eternity is seen.

My crooked conscience, the struggle
for joy - these are just a handful
of coincidences, a few tears
that I have given to the needy.

Don't be too sinful - I have found you,
although another era has passed,
and the light has become
too long a shadow.

I will fall asleep before
you manage to find the right time;
I will perish as long as
I feel the aftertaste of your longing.