Monday, 22 May 2017

“An average human looks without seeing, listens without hearing, touches without feeling, eats without tasting, moves without physical awareness, inhales without awareness of odour or fragrance, and talks without thinking.” 
― Leonardo da Vinci

Next time I see you

Next time I see you'll be wearing sunflowers in your hair and your skin will be magical like in a fairy tale.
We'll go walking int he park, strolling through the cozy breeze all the way till it gets dark.
You'll take me to eat in a place that's specially open only for us and it will be the best dinner we have ever had.
Next time I see you, I'll be the one on the top of the mountain breathing deep and shining from so much healthy oxygen.
We'll go to the beach and into the warm water and the skies above will be of an intense blue that we've never seen before.
I'll take you somewhere new where we can be whoever we truly are.
Why are there so many tormented souls? People who loved and lost and continued to love, people who saw their childhood ripped from them, people who are faithful and true to themselves...
Love isn't love
It's just and illusion of the mind
That drags the heart relentlessly

Saturday, 20 May 2017

Post-euphoria, what remains?
A shred of emptiness,
the vacuum that sucks your whole being 
into the blasting sound speakers
that still reverberate as the cops stare
trying to resist to give into the music. 

Fleeting dancing lights

Travel to see faces
Travel to see souls
Dancing and whistling
In the passing time.

I get to see your eyes,
they shimmer in the spotlights


[ was written and left uncomplete on purpose, on an unique and incredible day's ending packed with surprises, on 17th May 2017, when I had brief but profound encounter and good connection, with Zaim, who liked this poem I was writing amidst a concert for the first time and unknowingly made me not quit posting here and in what I write. feeling so lucky and am so grateful for the few belle anime of pure heart that I still get to find in this life :))) ]

Save the pain - ('cause even me not being a believer I would pray if that would indeed help in saving)

Will you go into the bright light
when November reaches its end
and all the leaves have fallen
as if prematurely crying for you?

Will you just join the fate of the 27 club
and no longer get to vibrate with life
sharing music and balm for us lost souls
roaming in this god forsaken Earth?

I hope you get to stay and continue
to irradiate hope and tenderness
and fairness and change and love
for everyone around as always

Or even if you get a bit more disappointed
to see most humans true colours
I hope you get to stay and continue
because I know you will always save us.

Dive in in Transparency

It's not what you have to be, 
It's who you are, 
No masks for society, 

I get to see the real you
Your being in all its profoundness, 
I get to glimpse it and then dive in
As in that moment when a body enters the sea, 

straight headed, emptied mind, ready to be flooded.
- Do fish cry?
- No, they're already drowning in a sea of sorrows. 

till now my best possible comprehension about it + Quotes Fernando Pessoa

Poetry damns me and makes me survive. 

[till now was always mainly the thought: poetry is a curse that I carry]



in The Selected Prose of Fernando Pessoa, by Richard Zenith : 

"I was a poet animated by philosophy, not a philosopher with poetic faculties. I loved to admire the beauty of things, to trace in the imperceptible and through the minute the poetic soul of the universe.
Poetry is in everything - in land and in sea, in lake and in riverside. It is in city too - deny it not - it is evident to me here as I sit: there is poetry in this table, in this paper, in this inkstand; there is poetry in the rattling of the cars on the streets, in each minute, common, ridiculous motion of a workman who on the other side of the street is painting the signboard of a butcher's shop.

My inner sense predominates in such a way over my five senses that I see things in this life - I do believe it - in a way different from other men. There is for me - there was - a wealth of meaning in a thing so ridiculous as a door key, a nail on a wall, a cat's whiskers. There is to me a fullness of spiritual suggestion in a fowl with its chickens strutting across the road. There is to me a meaning deeper than human fears in the smell of sandalwood, in the old tins on a dirt heap, in a matchbox lying in the gutter, in two dirty papers which, on a windy day, will roll and chase each other down the street.

For poetry is astonishment, admiration, as of a being fallen from skies taking full consciousness of his fall, astonished at things. As of one who knew things in their soul, striving to remember this knowledge, remembering that it was not thus he knew them, not under these forms and these conditions, but remembering nothing more."