every human’s a box
each also lives in one
and they call it a home.
but some have cracks
not where the locked door is,
nor under the window
curious eyes sometimes
peep searching for
that crazy woman’s screech.
they are inside
and they happen when that glass of
somewhere else on
you can find the shards of
buy a new home
and a bottle of wine:
open the latter,
lock the first.
Ever wondered why the arsonist too goes to the shore?
He pulls out his ribs to design a boat,
Knitting them with every plucked string of his heart
But as soon as he leaves the land
They all start to crumble and crumble;
The water is glaucous blue and salty
And it comes from his eyes which burn.
While plunging into it and getting his last straw
He dies and his house tumbles down, burnt.
They find his memories on the floor
Smelling like regrets and cigars.
suddenly struck by this thorny thought
untimely swirling into chaos
which I did not apprehend.
cause me pain, I thought
but I didn’t expect that you’d end
what really felt like a start.
the door opens, I’m still shocked
as one already closed, too fast
and feeling stabbed by million shards
I smile and overtly gaze there, having no aim
like saying: yeah, come in.
then the question that I fear arises:
-Do I bother you?
-Of course not, please just vanish
while I still feel flustered
with wobbly knees and refrained
-Why aren’t you staying straight?
But how could I
when the only remanent thing which keeps my head up
is the fucking orthosis
she came and seemed so happy;
she said: -hey!
and you replied: -Hey! I’m Happiness.
then the other day, another one came
he said: hey…
in 4 shades of sad
and then again you replied:
-Hey! I’m Sadness.
after that, out of nowhere,
a new one appeared
she was so funny
and her laughter
so you smiled and told her a joke:
-Hey, I can be so me with you!
and you’re alone:
finally, the latter one showed up
he unsaid the joke
tendentiously veiled in irony.
he became clear black
and said: hey, I’m Grief!
then sluggishly asked me:
-Who are you?
thus bewildered I said:
ochii-ti ies din orbite vio/lent
si-o amintire-ti impregneaza o imagine-n minte-
neclar, neclar, neclar
imprumuta Ochiul lui Horus si-nteapa-l
cu varful unghiei abia scos din carnea-
palmei mai acum ceva timp inclestata-n pumn
sa prinda, sa nu dea drumul
jongleaza cu el- inducere-n eroare
deformeaza imaginea, cuprinde-l in maini
pune-i degetul, sa taca, pe retina.
el clipeste in semn de revolta, te musca de deget disperat
genele-ti rapun tesutul;
injecteaza-o lacrima sa te-amorteasca
neclar, neclar, neclar-
acum e momentul,
definitiveaza actul profanator:
strapunge-l si lasa-l orb
indurerat de amintirea amintirii.
you woke up,
you barely woke up;
you sighed and thought
“5 more minutes that I need, please”
so you begged yourself to feel
a bit longer dead:
you woke up
then again you peevishly asked for some minutes
to feel how it feels not to feel at all
conscious, or aware of our mawkish reality
“so life”- you begged, “let me die a bit”-
stand up and aimlessly move your legs
go there- but where?
brush your teeth, look into the mirror
see not yourself, but just a weary face-
not yours, another’s.
feel empty for the rest of the day,
drown in drowse and act dim,
the disappearance of the insides
lacking the You in Self and the Self in You,
yourself is divided:
Self craves for some minutes of death
and after a day of living
You get home-
He walked the chalky alley
As he usually does:
Lumbering, with his eyes
Not reaching the horizon.
But for the nonce
He feels the wind
Sluggishly touching his
And dazzled he observes
The iridescence of a
Floating feather in
The sun’s glow-
Its blatant colours:
Black fading in metallic blue
And metallic blue fading in
The kid’s green-like eyes.
Such a piece of art
Tremulous in the air
As the boy’s heart when
His mom died.
4 p.m.- on some other street
You can hear a screech
From insides of a dead bird.
Black fading in metallic blue,
Metallic blue fading in