Dreams of September


Summer melted the days

Into liquid laissefaires.

Green turned into golden

With red undertones.

Skins are chocolate

To nibble on

And freckles on the nose

Waiting to be kissed.

Overnight, open windows:

Tunnels to the noise.

Now, autumn sneaked in

With jingly dry leaves,

Apple scented,

A cold towel on a feverish,

Summer drunken forehead.

It sits on the bed,

Holding my tanned hand,

Carressing my locks with

Moist fingers.

Summer suitcases wait by the door

And autumn looks around


To redecorate the rooms of my soul.


Forest Gump


“Mama azt mondta, hogy néha az embereknek az összes könnyüket el kell sírniuk azért, hogy a szívükben újra legyen elég hely a boldogságnak…”

My own particular storm


Some yesterdays are firewood

And I am spitting water

To heal the scolding.

My yesterdays have melted

And my tomorrows aren’t ripen yet.

Just walk today’s line


Heart between the teeth.

While the mind keeps telling you

To jump.

Thoughts circling,

Going round and round you

Moths drawn to fire.

My own particular storm

In free fall.

What is to come will come


I Wonder how long

This heavy burden

Of mine

Will keep on clinging

Like a pricetag

On a conch shell

Erroded by sea

Bullied by winds.

One day, this body will shed

its torn skin, like an old jacket

You no longer need.

That day, maybe, this tongue will speak

More than forced words

And these eyes will look at you

With confidence.

Until that day,

We stagger and stumble

And break.