I Have Been Waiting
I wrote this poem in a moment of emotional numbness and exhaustion. In a desperate attempt to recharge my battery, I spoke. I spoke to all the things that can melt away the ice; that can be my July morning in the chilly night of March. I spoke.
Poetry Is Life
Poetry is like bread – it needs flour and yeast. If you want to turn the words into something bigger, more palpable, divine, you need to use a special thing – emotions, real and ocean deep. This is what breathes life in a verse.
I’ve Lost a Dream
Not every day we can be strong and tenacious, knowing what lies ahead. When dreams are all we have, it’s hard to swallow even one of them being eaten and devoured by unfulfilled longings. Then it hurts, but the pain is temporary… as is life.
Thousand Mirrors, One Face
A thousand mirrors will never show beauty if there is none. The future will not promise when there is no hope at all. The day will not get brighter and warmer when there are clouds. Keep searching, soul. Keep looking for Love.
Black Kiss
When writing this poem, I was thinking about the kiss between the ocean and the horizon when the sun goes down and darkness creeps out and engulfs everything.Then, at this moment, the water and the sky kiss each other until they become one entity – black and deep.
Don’t Promise
In summer, promises come easily to one’s heart, and the nights seem so long and young. They smell of love and innocence. But when the winds start blowing and howling and the night shows its teeth, promises can break as easily as glass. And amidst the shards, we see the snow washing away with its white everything that reminded us of summer.
Without My Wings
Sometimes losing your wings means losing everything – your physical existence, your very mind and soul. Then, the day is bleak and windy despite the summer calm, and the wine tastes of bile instead of autumn grapes.
Autumn Mists
There are days and days: some we never remember, others we never forget. And often in the mists of autumn, we take out these hidden treasures, these days of sunny pleasure, days of glory and dandelion wine, when we dreamt and roamed the skies. When nothing was impossible and we could outrun the winds. Let’s remember.
When the World Starts
If you are looking for a good Monday read or just want to kill some time, perhaps you’ve chosen the wrong thing to look at. In this essay expect nothing but brutal honesty and man-to-man revelations that might sour your coffee. Who was there when your world began crumbling down? Who will be the next time it happens? Read and you may find an answer.
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