DREAM BUBBLES

I want to fly away
in the bubbles of the dreams
That are not mine
I walk through the busy streets
Like I walk in the future
like I lost today
The smell of the fish
The jule huset
and they just get dissolved
while I try to capture them
In the bubbles of my dreams

Can we go through the ritual again?

Food and two glasses of wine

We were not friends enough!

Can we sit on the opposite sides of the table

And gaze the empty darkness, without a break

Creating out our own universe, hard and solid

And then out of boredom,

I acknowledge people around

One beautiful girl sits next to her man,

Must that be love?

But it.. it is no more my business

I look back to the impenetrable darkness

And there, I find my meaning to life

Words shattered into letters

And I try to catch them

Yes!! But they cannot be gathered into LOVE

None of them

And I tell you,

Still, from the other side of the table

Please! could you replace the wine

With some coffee

So I could think

And make sense out of the letters

And this moment which is not moment enough

And we not friends enough

Nor strangers enough

Could make sense at least

A little bit of sense of present!

So I could go silently

Back to my hard and sallow universe

And not worry about finding love

To sit by my side

While I eat my dinner

The Seven Farewell

They were the worst tears I ever cried
They were the annihilation and nirvana
The door to the soul and out of it
The most precious, the seven farewells

One of seven, I smiled as I bode farewell
I was going away, and the splendid goddess
took revenge on me, for abandoning
I never told her that I was taken away

Two of seven, the soul was abducted
the prey fell in love with the hunter
It killed itself, for the killer's grandeur
The hunter went home empty hands

Three of seven, the river has it in memory
the fur, the white, the prayers all went wasted
It was not just departure, it was death 
The bridge then after always sang forlorn and empty

Four of seven, the heart stood on the line
It flow far above the seas and the mountains
just to be bruised, it hated the look of itself
and looked down on the dark of the hell

five of seven, heart and soul being down and dead
the chocolate, fumed body played the war
but then it was like so holy, but then it
gave the worst, worst, worst wound ever

Six of seven, the eyes came in play
the fairytales, the tears went away and wild
the dolls, the princess, the flowers and hanging garden
but then the princess was turn to clay

Seven of seven, the clay distorted from its shape
wore a mask, wore a smile, and stood look like the splendid goddess
with full of revenge, full of envy and punished
who seemed to go, who seemed to fail

One, two, three, four, five ,six, seven
The splendid goddess and her heaven
broke everything to seven
The colors then one, turned to seven
The one then became seven the seas
The seven heaven, seven keys
The seven, seven days
and herself into seven clays

It is Winter here

It is winter here. Cold, feathers of snow float and dance and then hit the ground. Their weightlessness is adorable, so pure, so fragile and so beautiful. The thin thread between the consciousness and existence, justifies life, while everything else seems to be dead. One moment it is snow, one moment it is gone. Killing beautifully everything possible, the strand of grass, the vitality of leaves, the strength from girth of trees and the life within the lives of so many. It is winter here, and the mind waders with the snow. Freezing with it and  melting with it. I have wandered enough now, to find the answers of the un--answerable. To find what it is not meant to be found. To find the sufferings and the healing. But how far one is supposed to reach beyond the borders of one’s own experience. May be that is the time when one starts to create false experiences. Starts to feel what is not real and not there and assume it to be true. May be then the whole thing starts.

It is winter here

And I wander,

Far far inside my head

Which is warm and wild

It is winter here

So I wander,

To keep  the snow off

From my sight

And remember my own coldness

Wondering

I wonder about the dead in the sarcophagus
They thought they were gone
but really?
they persist here, Unknowingly
it must be tragedy,
to be there for everafter
And have no choice to leave
How would they know
that going would be beautiful
and having a choice is even more---

the walking

riddles of time,
the red snow.
Footsteps, on the melting
We have to walk
like such crimes
however deep, or obscure
because we have to walk
that is what we do
No matter if the footsteps will remain
No matter if the snow will melt away

But i feel like laughing on those
who press on too hard
on the snow,
on the naive, playful snow
who cares very little.
To make a mark with their boots
with a temptation to be immortalized

The snow and me,
We watch them,
the fool with the strength and the boots,
while we play carelessly with each other
melting each other,
getting lost,
being and not being
failing the riddles
losing the games.
While they think, they are WINNERS.

Mohini

What would you give me
Mohini???

It has been ages,
the angels and the demons
have been fighting 
inside my head

I take whatever i get
A gulp of-poison
and;
A gulp of-elixir

One stern Voyage
from life to death
and
death to life
A pendulum
A swing
that never was quiet
yet never became anything

one second- a demon
another- a god
and they fight again
filling the head with 
barrels of elixir and poison

But i leave it to you now
 feeling sick of immortality sometimes
and feeling sick of dying sometimes
what would you give me???
MOHINI???