letters (nostalgia)

cold moonlight sifts through the open window,
into the frozen darkness of my room,
knocks on the door of my dreams,
awakes me in the silence of the night.
my eyes reflect the light of distant stars,
my spirit is frozen by the absence.
I’m lost in this unfriendly, empty world.
hopelessness fills the vacancy of my aching heart.

…new day will replace the night
and night would paint again
another day into the darkness.
the order of changes
mixed with the chaos of feelings.
it is no purpose there.
Just a measurement of time.

fragments( Not of any importance.. )

….Sometimes life does not feel real, at all. Sometimes, when I am facing the mirror, I’m looking into my eyes. The other times, when the veil of time curtains my view, I am looking into the eyes of a stranger. And I try to remember whether I am sleeping and dreaming a strange dream, whether the reality of a dreamland had absorbed my being to the last molecule. I search deep into my memory and my feelings for the answers…. I don’t have any other realities. All I have is the present one, my own, where I am an actor and a director. I filled in all the blanks, omitted by life. I would not know anymore what is real and what is not. I try to pinch myself awake and I know it would not matter much, for I can dream my pain, my love, my affection… I wonder if I will die in my dream, would I be able to find the exit from that white room with no doors and no windows. Although it would not be of any importance…

letters (am I a patriot?)

I wonder what makes you a patriot. The other day I got a compliment being a patriot of my country because I drive a particular car. And I realized that I have never thought about it. I disapprove, dislike and disagree with many things that happened in my country. I am not politically active, except the presidential election, my civic duties. Does that make me less patriotic?
On the other hand, there is not a day in my life when I suddenly remember that the USA exists and I feel like a kid on charismas morning, just from that single thought. Next thought of mine is that I live half of my life in this country and I feel elated; I can compare my feelings to feelings of falling in love. I wonder whether it counts for something.
And being objective, if I would ever be asked to give my life for this country I would not think twice and I would be honored. I definitely count this one.
About me driving a Bonneville, other that it is black, my favorite color, I like the fact that it is made in my favorite city of Detroit…. An unrelated thought, I find all my worldly possessions in the reality where my desires and financial ability meets. And I really want to drive BMW!...

fragments (Illusions)

I walked away into a sand storm… Just a moment ago I was sitting in the comfort of an indoor bar, nursing a glass of red wine and staring into the mirror, that reflected the people behind me, for nothing better to do. The similarities between the two women suggested a mother and daughter relationship. They have an infant on top of the table in some kind of a baby carriage, I was not familiar with. They were engaged in a busy conversation: talking loudly, smoking excessively. The infant was silent, I wondered whether from the intoxication or realization about in what kind of hell all those cycles of rebirth can drop you at one time. I watched them until their faces disappeared in the cloud of bluish smoke…
The rough, tasteless granules of pale sand crunched under my teeth. It was annoying. Sandstorms…. I used to like them: traveling with Bedouins, being buried into the moving sands, measuring deserts from the edge to edge… I used to like it; perhaps I am getting to old… I stayed still for a moment, leaning against the gusts of wind, mixed with sand, then I turned around and walked back to the sanctuary of the indoors. To my surprise the building, I just left a moment ago, was further and more to the north that I remember. I realized that it was not only a sandstorm I stepped in; I completed my running circle and ended up back home, from where I was so desperate to escape… many times. One step, one more... I am still alive. He did not devour me this time. I was not even wounded. I was puzzled, the thoughts and images that were flooding my mind were bizarre, invasive and not familiar at all. “He acted human” I muttered to myself “and he almost succeeded, almost convinced me”. I wondered about his foul language, about the riddle with two whorehouses and a church, even so there are only sand dunes for miles and miles, in any direction you can see. And he was not the type who would be familiar with any church, perhaps the whorehouses. My mind was frantically looking for the answers; trying to find the memory and origin of that thought.
I felt that I escaped my usual ordeal, but did I? Doubt and fear squeezed my heart, there was nothing human about him; I had sensed it. Pain of the mortal wounds and helpless desperation of the violent death sharpened my senses. My acute awareness about my surroundings told me that something very important was missing. As I opened the door, human scents rushed through my nostrils and flooded my brain with slowness of their thoughts, retardation of the speech and action. I remembered him now, he was different. He was one step ahead of me; he sensed me before I could realize that I was trapped. He definitely puzzled me today, not a beast, not a flame breathing dragon, almost a human... almost.
He had killed me for so many times, I wondered, whether he was infected, at the time when my blood was all over his beak and claws, whether my human pieces of flesh got imbedded into him and started the mutation process. But on the other hand...
The waiter silently materialized himself by my table “You are back ma'am. Would you like more wine, or perhaps dinner?”
“Bring me a burger, make it rare” I replied. The waiter disappeared faster than I finished my phrase. I was tired; I closed my eyes for a moment and drifted into the comfort of darkness.
“Ma’am, here is your burger. Would you like to have more wine?” I opened my eyes; I meant to say “Yes”, but it was already too late. Red thick droplets lazily crawled down over the bare mirror's body, that a moment ago reflected my appearance. The sharp smell of iron unpleasantly tickled my nostrils, made me nauseous and I threw up all over the table, observing with a horror that the surface of the table absorbed blood and vomit and shined back again with virgin cleanliness…
I was not concerned anymore about my long and tragic past, nor my feelings of disgust, unanswered lingering around my heart. I was dining and it was about time, after all that wine….
The dark cloud of the sand storm were moving away, south, pushed by strong gusts of wind and pulled by the invisible horizon. The occasional bursts of flame appeared within the clouds, and disappeared with the speed of lightning.
Lazarus and his Camel were hiding from the storm in a deep pit that he dug earlier, before the storm. He looked at the distant clouds and tongues of flames and he thought he smelled the smoke of tobacco and a distant woman’s voice pleading for help. But he knew that deserts are like the afterlife famous for their illusions.

fragments (time stay still)

time, barb-wire, wrapped around my ankles.
minutes, strips of my skin… peel them of off me!
my being plastered into the event horizon
by the gravity of cosmic proportions.
…ashes, remainder of wings, memory of flight,
frozen still into the cloud that never rains.

darkness of a thousand nights,
sadness of a thousand tears,
silence of a thousand deaths,
painfully saturates my soul.
…living in the shadows,
moving in the circles,
counting days...

fragments (dreamland)

life in the world of illusions.
life in the world of dreams
you drift from one to another effortlessly
emotionlessly … just changes of sceneries.
you don’t remember whether you are alive.
you try to recall the times when you were real…
so close to it… cold grass under your feet,
pain from a bee sting bursts you into the ball of light.
the wind caresses your face… and your memory….
the arrows of pain blaze through your mind…
just a distant memory. Someone else’s memory,
many memories… It does not add to the intensity.
it doesn’t break your heart into pieces,
nor push your mind into the abyss of insanity:
beyond your dreams, beyond the illusions.
you recognize the things and events as they unfold in front of your eyes.
useless information on the shelves of your brain.
you run away from experiences, from the harshness of life
from blood, sweat and body parts in the sand.
you run ahead of time to avoid being human
you hide from pain and death under the canopy of illusions.
you don’t remember when you were alive, if ever…
you are just a ball of fleeting memories,
imagining itself into existence, causing havoc
in those you touch, leaving disharmony in your path
…lost, scared and ephemeral…
at ones, rest! Find yourself in a dreamless sleep
escape the illusions, you are so keen to master.
spare all from your touch.

fragments(fragment)

A broken promise like a broken glass, shattered into sharp pieces. It’s hazardous to touch. The thorny narrow ends cut painfully and deeply, penetrating the bloodstream, traveling into the heart. …killing eventually...