“There is what we remember. And there is what we never forget.”
Ploaia aleargă printre clădiri.
I se aud copitele
pe piatra cubică.
Ropot de ploaie neagră
în cuțite perpendiculare.
Orbește temporar ochiul extern al nopții-
ochiul intern toarce ca o pisică.
“Let me photograph you in this light
In case it is the last time.”
It does not reside in the heart.
But rather goes through the body
As lightning and thunder.
From hair to the soles of the feet.
Sometimes it flows majestically,like a river
And sometimes it pours,like summer rain.
It may stop sometimes.
There may be a terrible drought for days on end
But it’s there.
Just as the water is still there
in the mud and the cracks
of dried out rivers.
Waiting to come out
Into the light.
It does not dwell only in the heart.
It’s in the crevases of fingertips.
At the other end of a glare.
In the warmth of a word .
In the moist breath of a mouth approaching.
The heat of the body intensified with closeness.
In the invisible threads drawing us together,kindred spirits.
Our ties tied in a knot
Somewhere,where the heart is.
“People are always selling the idea that people with mental illness are suffering. I think madness can be an escape.If things are not so good, you maybe want to imagine something better.” (John Forbes Nash)
Holy water from sky’s silent cathedral.
A rhythmical blessing.
A wet rope ladder
A silver avenue.
Infinite stories written
on the inside of the eyelids –
Giant cinema screens.
Private. Keep out!
With every rhythmical
of eyes –
A closure to one world
is a beautiful opening
Sequential images of a double life
by reality .
Tremulous waiting of the seconds of waterfall
between one blinking
Life trapped in the blinks.