Monthly Archives: January 2016

love me not, then I love you

I will explain to you my child/ it is like a written test where everything that someone thinks by himself cannot be thought by others too because the mind is sometimes like a radio jammer device/ it is the game between yes and no/ the game between emptiness and fullness

it’s useless to avoid people with black or sad thoughts because without them you won’t be able to see the stars shining brighter and the perfect blueness of the sky/ if they will think no then you will be able to think yes

don’t you think too much ‘ I love you ‘ my dear child because if you do this he will never love you back for real or maybe he will hate you because there will be no more place for other feelings between the two of you

learn to say no
remember that love is the biggest no
and that only my silence will let you grow up someday

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forbidden wedding

memories passing through your veins are probably blue
you wipe them with your sleeve as if tears on your cheeks
you feel like itches
you cannot cry for real
and this is the first sign that you grew old

at the graveyard’s gate
you will find so many hearts on silk covered mattresses
filled with straw inside
old men and women with fake teeth and fake pearl necklaces
with moth-eaten mink collars
with soft smiles close to their framed photographs

you take a deep breath
you swallow an aspirin to dilute your blood
it is as clear as the light of day now
you began to forget and you feel sorry for yourself
the same way you feel pity
for the homeless asleep with tight lips
near his daily bread ballooned in that cold rain

someone stole your sun the day before yesterday
exactly at the time of first ripe cherries
two children laugh hiding under an umbrella
maybe it was yours
maybe it was red

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The Other Teenager

there were very few odd things/ the pink stockings with laced waist strip/ the blue mascara/ the rainbow-projecting shard of glass hanging at the window/ the plastic little miss Piggy doll/ the postcards with well-known quotes from Shakespeare/ the head of a man sculpted in black wood/ the little books with Louise May Alcott’s stories that I never read

when the sun set down I put on my pale magenta flats and ran out
on narrow streets to find the place where the light disappears
I passed over the world as if over a plank footbridge
paying attention to the tips of my feet that drew closer to each other
looking at the old mysterious trees like the Easter Island’s statues
at the red tiled roofs reminding of Vermeer’s paintings
I came back home with my heart in its place in my small room
I sharpened a HB pencil and wrote poems
about the other world in the village with a yellow church
where the moon came from the forests to roll down
over the gravel flooded with snowstorms

I ran between two different dance arenas
and there was almost nothing strange
in the times when there wasn’t yet dust on my desk or in my hair

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In A minor

let’s play another tag game until our hearts splash in our chests
our hearts studied by ichthyologists
with their slippery tails
I woman you man/ both carrying our misses among ribs
you and your Argonaut ship/ I and my flock of sheep grazing in the valley

neither my love has wild strawberry lips/ nor my breast is of alabaster
and even you aren’t another Rudolf Valentino
we’re just two masks from commmedia dell’arte
on the same flying carpet
two unique cripples among vertebrates/
I the hunchback from the church made from one single wood trunk
you the redhead bald freckled joker
we measure eye to eye our faults and the illness of the century
that branded on our souls an orange radioactive blossom

today we will forget about incomes and taxes/
we will be the lovers of another millennium
and we shall dance at the ball of those who never become grownups
our last waltz

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The drought killed all dowsers

I know my angel that you were a blonde and powerful angel
turning black
don’t be scared that’s what happens in this tiny world
almost like a spiky star for the little prince
the color of the hair might change but the habits of the angels don’t
I will die only once and you will die for the last time
I trod your paths I learned your silence
I was the child empress and the girl trapped in the lilac forest
all fairy tales were dead-fully beautiful
I loved you
a face of clay I was amid those who cry and I talked water words
so the pure souls will remember me when they will see the sun
fitting under the wing of a black bird according to the laws

only then the wise one will know
he will find me amid willows and cormorants somewhere
in the Saint George’s Danube estuary
blood mixed with mud
sky full of falling leaves
long after the trees stopped breathing

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