Lifeless hairs in a lifeless body
and yet
still waiting for the burst of life

She

Fingers like serpentines
unfolding along her hair
and the image of her eyes
so clear as the sky...

Golden reflections
drawing to her locks
and her beauty reminded
the splendor of Botticelli's Venus,
the luscious innocence kept.

Her embrace was confort and warmth of Spring
in the cold November days.

She was the most beautiful girl
who ever noticed me
and then I didn't feel so bad
anymore,
at least not in those moments.

The mere sight of her renascence prettiness
made my day much brighter.

Everything needs support, otherwise it just crumbles and falls. It's all about gravity...

The truth and nothing but...

People can't stand the truth, otherwise they would be free.

The complex notes of the human soul

I'm not a mere follower of what others conceived

I am a creator,
the reflective and philosophical creator of the mind.

Trees

The trees so sure of themselves,
in the same place for ages and all around everything shatters slowly
with the uncertainty of times
and as the trees stand tall I wonder
what was it all?

Who knows when their roots first penetrated the Earth?
Who knows when their ashes will be blown by the wind?

*in the bus ride to Lagos (31-08-2013)

I think that one of my famous sentences ought to be: I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Inexistency

No victories, no pain, no sorrow
for there's nothing existent
that won't cease tomorrow

And although it might take a while
to end and disappear
you can be sure it's never been

All you see and feel and hear
is nothing but an illusion
in the reality of the Universe

And even when everything seems all
it's just your mind and your body
segregating chemicals within
to ensure its survival

For nothing is, or has become,
just because it never was.

And in being in complete solitude I have become one with the world.

It was invented that the lack of human solidarity was making a white blindness. I'm asking myself whether my daily suffering has turned me white.