My poetry and short life stories Mischievous child


They put me in this wrinkly skin

No doubt – I am getting young.

I want to hold it, want to win:

The game with time means losing spunk.

Tonight the colors have their flavor,

The red is everywhere I look.

The sound’s not enough to savor-

My inner child, you such a crook.

Please see me and please be my toy:

I want to play with you a bit.

I’ll be your precious goody boy

That feels so happy losing it.

C’mon, let’s have some fun!

Pretend you hold me tight.

Now grab your stuff and run, damn, run.

The room is filled with morning light.

I close my eyes and it’s all red.

These colors spinning: splashing blood.

You are the one I should forget.

The sun is rising – dance in mud.

January 2015

Warrior’s Dancewarrior's dance

No more.
No sense in fighting with a reflection in a mirror.
Broken pieces on the floor:
The warrior is gone.

Silence is so noisy:
Cannot hear what you’re saying.
Plants are dying:
It’s time to leave this place.

Packing up. Leaving the warrior behind.
Walking barefoot on a thin glass.
I wanna say “goodbye”,
Though would just close the door.

Cannot dance tango alone.
Cannot force you to be my partner.
Solo dance is easy.
Solo dance is fair.

Through the desert, across the sea,
I’m coming home.
Where the other “me” is waiting.
For sure, “we” will dance together.

June 2014

Turn Backturn back

Turn back – I’m here for you
Holding the ripe fruit,
Extending hand.
I am your friend.

I see it’s dark,
I know it hurts.
Let’s make this trip together.
I am your friend.

You’re silent,
Can you hear me?
May I touch your shoulder?
Can I give you a hug?

Damn, take the courage and turn around!
The juicy fruit is drying out.
I feel so foolish looking at your back.
From now on that’s my pain.

I’ll leave the fruit beside you
And stay in this desert
Even If it takes forever.
I am your friend.

July 2014

Farewell Morningfarewell morning

Hustle of a garbage truck
Reminded us that morning came.
The sounds of a church afar
Welcomed a new day.

Quick breakfast, hasty hug
That can be the last one.
Who promised we would see each other again?
Who said you would come home?

An illusion of permanence,
A glimpse of non-change.
Let me kiss you like it’s the last kiss,
Let me stroke your hair as the first time.

Let’s live that moment and say goodbye
Knowing that it could be a farewell.

July 2014