Agnosis…

It’s not important to remember days, and wonder why has our time become so slow; it doesn’t matter anymore if there’s no thunder, after the rain, before the bow… It matters not why in our backyard’s desert, there are no camels and the Bedouins have left; what truly matters is a sense of water, illusion … Continue reading Agnosis…

Defiant hopelessness…

Nobody’s making attempts anymore to stir a peace of roses. Individual daffodils and bunches of sage challenge shields of rage hidden under profaned altars of compromised innocence; piled mountains of drowned chariots awaiting another exodus to chase… I nearly fell for you Delilah, but I am blind you see, incapable of discerning between a hairdresser … Continue reading Defiant hopelessness…

Flower, alone…

No one came to my funeral. They came to say goodbye, to mourn, to cry... Dressed in black like crows awaiting patiently until the first worms shall make their way from underneath my skin. Yes, they came, but not to my funeral. There was I, alone, dressed in black like a monstrous raven, nested uncomfortably … Continue reading Flower, alone…

1st of April the 4th, 1984… -on defiant hopelessness-

"To hang on from day to day and from week to week, spinning out a present that had no future..." G. Orwell No one knows where, or when it starts, as no instance can be recollected neither of space nor time, of that flash moment of realising truth, the truth... At first it's like a … Continue reading 1st of April the 4th, 1984… -on defiant hopelessness-

Endtimes of dying…

"The truth shall set you free..." I hate cut flowers. They remind me of life; beautiful and dead, already... Oftentimes suffering becomes a choice, a moral and an ethical one for the times when lying and cheating against our very own selves becomes a burden harder to bear than truth itself and its consequences. Life … Continue reading Endtimes of dying…

Social poem 1

They're all gone now. Swallowed down by windy pipes gone by... Some hairy brushes sinking low below Those every seconds left untouched. Where's time now mum? Where is it m'am? So fond of words, so fond... Label me life; label me as you would label toes... Dead, cold, as the reminder of an unpaid day … Continue reading Social poem 1