Friday, April 29, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
I will remain...
You may say to me
old words of comfort
rotten for years and years
locked inside your lips
you have just now remembered to take them out
only to throw them
upon my pain
so you can have your empty ways
with me
I will live.
It drips and drips and drops
this sorrow
every night
winds blow
stars fall
steps come and go outside my heart
Still
I remain
Your words are made of stone
I let them crush in front of me
I never wanted to hear
nothing more than words of love
You missed those
somewhere along the way
I will remain as i was,
since the beginning of time
walking towards love
with my arms open....
Friday, April 22, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Soul selling...
Its a rainy day...Im on my way to meet a friend, on the bus. Cold rainy weather, and my mind is broken in ten thousand pieces. A lot to think off. A lot not to think about. And the truth somewhere in the middle, stuck in my heart like a thorn that you cant take out at once, but you let it stay there until your flesh decides to start healing....Alone again, lost in my mist.
The bus runs down the slippery road as if it wants to take us, me and everyone else in it, to a parallel dimension, an upside down world of ghosts... Am I the ghost? I keep wondering as i see a little girl that holds a small red umbrella...smiling under the rain... her mom holds her by the hand, tells her to watch out for the rain, not to get wet...The little girl nods, and when her mommy is not looking, she moves her umbrella a bit to the side and opens her mouth to drink raindrops...How much joy is concealed in that brief moment of disobediance...
The bus turns again. The flea market starts under the bridge. A huge shop selling and bying almost everything. In lines on the ground, are the most horrible and fascinating objects, artifacts... second hand clothes, used devices of every shape and colour, old books with so many fingerprints on them that their covers and pages have the stories of so many people-some long dead, i know- left forever on them...Souls of the dead, souls of the living, one endless buy-and-sell river that flows along with all the sorrow of this world...
I look at a man who sells flowers, all fresh, all of them a bargain, that me or you or they shouldnt miss...And the rain goes on. A gypsy woman shows her rugs and other stuff to a young girl and her friend. She shines inside her golden necklasses and bracelets, inside her primitive beauty, radiating with the power of ancient wisdom that comes from within. The young girl asks to learn her future. The gypsy smiles with a golden tooth under her red lips. She knows how fragile humans are...i look at her hands. The blessing and the curse of being an outcast.
The bus stops at the red light. Too much traffic, too much noise. The rain falls harder now. A yellow tricycle is parked on the right side of the road. I see the most strange thing on it. An old dirty half ripped doll, a poorly sewn pile of cloth, with stripes for hair and buttons for eyes. She is looking at me, and im scared. I feel uncomfortable, trying to ignore that empty look...and wishing for the bus to start moving...And then its all gone, the gypsy, and the flowers, and the tricycle, and the doll, and the piles of dirt, and the people that swimm in this sea of human stench and tragedy bargaining for their souls, and the rain that covers everything with a fog...
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Sonnet for the blind lovers...
From night to night our love blooms like a star
from separate skies that cover our two hearts
with loving hands caressing from afar
our souls in one, in love our dreaming starts
Our sight no more than specks of light and dust
we walk upon this earth, one, hand in hand
no eyes to guide us where our heart flows fast
through barren fields and long forgotten lands
we travel through the darkness till the dawn
blind both, embraced, finds us on hills of Fate
our eyelids closed while we still carry on
feeling so strong our cores to palpitate
For no one else our vision ever be,
my eyes only for you, and yours for me...
The Lovers, Rene Magritte, 1928 |
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
How to Write a Chinese Poem.
A well-known Japanese poet was asked how to compose a Chinese poem.
"The usual Chinese poem is four lines," he explains. "The first line contains the initial phase; the second line, the continuation of that phase; the third line turns from this subject and begins a new one; and the fourth line brings the first three lines together. A popular Japanese song illustrates this:
Two daughters of a silk merchant live in Kyoto.
The elder is twenty, the younger, eighteen.
A soldier may kill with his sword.
But these girls slay men with their eyes.
"The usual Chinese poem is four lines," he explains. "The first line contains the initial phase; the second line, the continuation of that phase; the third line turns from this subject and begins a new one; and the fourth line brings the first three lines together. A popular Japanese song illustrates this:
Two daughters of a silk merchant live in Kyoto.
The elder is twenty, the younger, eighteen.
A soldier may kill with his sword.
But these girls slay men with their eyes.
Ancient painting themed with Li Bai reciting his famous poem: Jing Ye Si(静夜思) |
Saturday, April 2, 2011
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