Like always…
It’s sweet to listen to you,
to have a tea with the past,
dig up an old memory or two
like a box of old photographs,
smile, talk, tease, giggle
and make fun of the world
(You were always funny
just the way I like)

Then we’ll walk away
towards opposite ends,
I don’t know about you anymore,
But I love to relive my past.

Once it was a wildfire,
the love.
Now its a candle, I have to protect
from the merciless wind.

Diary is too much work.
It takes time to write,
pen doesn’t ride on paper
smoothly as it should.
It gets old when
writing the same thing everyday
for weeks and for months.
You can talk to someone,
who’s close… a friend!
(But sometimes I wonder,
what does ‘a friend’ really mean?)
In truth,
who has time to listen to your complain.
They have their own things.

You my friend needs a teddy bear,
who silently listen
with a unchanging smile
like in the old days
when your are little.

You better find one soon.
before you choke on your own thoughts.

They warned me about you.

You, the fox hunter,
who can see through me
hiding between the autumn leaves.

you who hide among the orange trees
and put your foot on my chest
and pushes your gun into my forehead
with an unchanging smile.

They warned me about you.

But you have beautiful blue eyes.

I Listen to the sounds,
while laying on the bed.
It's passed midnight
but sleep is late -
just the darkness
hanging above the dimmed night lamp.

A dog barked at a shadowy figure.
A bus drove away on a distant road.
Then silence again
which makes me think...
But I hate thinking.
it keeps me awake, listening to the silent.
Unending cycle
listening, awake, thinking
till the sun comes out of the hiding
darkness says it's goodbyes.
I'm so tired.
can't get out of the bed.
there's nothing for me out there.

That dog barks again.
I'm still in the middle of the night
listening
****, I hate thinking!!

What if sky is a seashore?
Then I could sit on white sands
and watch the city above.
Street lights will be my stars
and you'll be my moon.

You became poetry
like music,
but silent
with words
which don't mean,
but feel.

The rain always comes when you least expect it.
Like a drunken car - crashing into a busy restaurant
Or
It'll tap your shoulder from behind and whisper
"We were always with you"

So
I always have to be ready to run,
remove myself from me
like a shirt on fire.
Then hide,
between the sheets,
in a tasteless cup of tea from a ****** restaurant
or in a toilet stall.
In somewhere where the limit of my reality
are within an arm's reach
where there are no holes for shadows to creep in.

But
Are there such places?
Can anyone carry such a world on their back
like refrigerator,
open the door when you want to 
hide and hide.

I am always in heavy rain
or in a heavy drought
without a spring with blossoming flowers 
and birds chirping
(I don't even remember what the flowers look like)
When there's barely a moment of calm
I'm starting to feel black
Like a drop of black ink


I stand before my strangeness
It is worn on my forehead like a red 
streak that cannot be erased.
In the city square or the buses or trains
waves upon waves of people
in a sea of human voices,
all of them know something I don't know
They are all in a secret society
Where do their rivers of love flow?
When will their volcanoes of hatred erupt?
Seas of brotherhood, storms of violence
None of my items are on my map

My map full of feelings I copied from books
I am walking along that map without understanding 
Like dancing according to the illustrations of a book
(while everyone watches)
 
(I think) I am not a human
None of them wants to talk to me
Maybe it's because of the red spot on my forehead
Or maybe because I can't dance and they know it
Then it starts to rain

I can feel my face melting
(I always had a fear of what my face was doing 
when sitting in front of others)
I want to hide from the rain.
I struggle to close my eye which is broken 
off of me and looking at me

The rain is getting heavier and 
it is melting the concrete towers of the city
That rain is not beautiful
as much as in other people's poems
(Nothing is as beautiful as it is in poetry)
 
Maybe others are lying
Because to them
the rain is so beautiful that 
they are doing everything to avoid it.

Day was nothing but
gray skies through dusty window.
Cold wind shakes a leave or two.
Corner of the wet pavement,
a puppy in pain,
murmurs
'Don't leave me alone.'
But hears no one.
Does the sky ever cares
about the raindrops
smashing on the road?

When I go home,
I'll try finding some sleep
without running around
too much in my head,
I hate darkness of my mind.

I love how my mind
read your texts
with your voice.

I thought
you had the key to my heart
but later I realized
you just picked the lock.

I hope
at least one versions of you
will fall for
one versions of me.

Did universe ask you to lie to me
by saying you don't love me
to give me another life lesson?

You don't know how lucky you are.
You get to be loved
without giving away your heart.

For a moment,
the whole world was
just the swing of your hips.

You're my north star
when I'm lost in sea of words.

You're so funny -
coming up with stories
one after the other,
stoping once in a while
just to tease me.
Your coffee brown eyes
glows with fire
and every curve of your face
dances to your voice.
I could only smile
and stare at your lips
searching for words
vainly.

You're a whirlwind of crazy,
I'm just an idiot.