......................................................
......................................................
......................................................
......................................................
......................................................
................................m...................
home
photos
info
contact
poetry
news
back
easy index
more
Please click on the left side of the words home,photos,info,contact,poetry,news on the main menu and not on the letters,when is to choose one of them.
People, people...

The whole world is a small walk.
One small walk, our life within parks, swamps and streets with small square boxes.
Until some  day the ideas turn back
the same again and again in mind
and inspirations dry up.

We all search for something
which some later and some sooner         finally kick.
And the world is turning.
Sun and night will come again,
and people running every day.                     They have adjusted.
And nowhere one warm glance
rarely one real, warm hug.
Panting. Inhaling, exhaling�.hot breath
for a moment and then ice again.
Goodnight.

That�s how we are,
intruders full of diffusions.
One aah... and goodnight
or even a goodbye sometimes as well.

And me, yesterday I kissed you
for the first time.

You might remember the same as well,
but people we are unfortunately named
and me,... and you.
Even though we are missing their standards,
their habits and their customs�
the instinct exists.
Paris 4th October 82

And I turn my head to the thrown clothes
for a while it looked to me that
they were not mine.
They looked to me unfamiliar,
like they were poking their tongue out at me,
cast costumes, which after the show
don�t belong to me anymore.

And I understood that even my clothes
were not on my side anymore.
They couldn�t even follow my life,
and I felt alone and empty�
I should do something so they, at least,
would take me seriously,
and belong to me again.

And I see the world like a rake.
If you turn rakes with their teeth
facing up, then they are useless,
one gardener advised me.

And why  do they exist those instruments,
that we call rakes, I asked him.
And surprised, he answered me,
but� to separate the wild thorns
from the fruitful offspring,
and also to prepare the land to be fertile.

And I said thank you�leaving
with the question why do rakes exist.
The gardener without a rake

It�s been a long time since I was shuffling
the soil in the vineyard,
and deep down I have managed
to do nothing.

Nowadays, sometimes, I pass            outside the fence and I spit inside,               to water them a little bit.
I have lost enough time when I was young.

And I hear the people around
clapping sarcastically.
It makes a lot of difference to me, I told them
but I don�t move my sight from the earth
which is in all places the same,
and I love her.

Maybe it is too soon yet to love the sky,
I thought.
Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1