“Az álom nem az, amit alvás közben látsz. A valódi álom az, ami éjjel nem hagy aludni.” (A. J. A. Kalam)
“I wanted to touch your skin today.To slowly kiss the lovable wrinkles around your eyes.The little imperfections of the eyebrows.Taste your half-closed eyelids and the pale skin of your lips in their left corner.Then slide towards the right one. My teeth near your teeth and the tongue tiptoes to recollect your taste.Mess up your hair with my fingers and feel the warmth of the skin on the scalp.Re-draw the lining of the neck,down to the point where it meets the textile.Breath in the fragrance on the square centimeter of the pulse beating ,where your life is struggling to be visible.Inhale its tempo.Like blood transfusion.Smell, taste and touch the flesh and blood that builds up your outer shell.The palpable tower of your sometimes mountaineous inside.
But most of all, I wanted ….all.”
at random names
ticking like clockwork
on a carbomb.
“Pustiul m-a făcut să înţeleg că nu sunt destul de puternic pentru a nu iubi pe nimeni.”
The world in black and white.When there are so many grays in between….
Ghastly faces of people elbowing each other on streets.Each one another story.A story of aches and struggle that leads to the insane tempo of their hurry. Old people asking for alms.Heartbreaking station of where a person can end up….Dirty children smoking and talking dirtier than convicts.Sad scenario of a grim future ahead. Stray dogs, hungry,breastfeeding or lying in a small dry corner of an abandoned cartboard box..Acceptance in their eyes, which is even more depressing than their unwantedness.Churches standing tall and proud, while people and animals are brought together in the same reduced universe of despair and indifference…Countless crows are circling above,small dark circles in a foreshadowing,creepy musicality.It is as if the light is dead and the colors exiled,leaving behind a menial sense of being, hollow and implausably choking.Snow dying on the pavement, icicles crushed under heels. Spit- like droplets of liquid dirt from cars passing too near.Cars honking, as if the silence wasn’t deafening enough.An aura of chill like a cocoon around every passer-by.Soap bubbles of untold stories…
All,seen in five minutes while heading home.I wonder how many stories we miss in the hours and days we are blind to the ephemeral, sad universe around?
E mult înapoi? Atâta e şi de-acum înainte
cu toate că mult mai puţin o să pară.
Ne-ascundem – stins arzând – după năluca de vară.
Ne-nchidem inima după nespuse cuvinte.