A trip in lost time*

Let’s ride together the back of a butterfly
And dive into a pool of our memories
Break into a heaven we once shared
That is now lost in a different place and time
Let’s color the film strips of our photos from the past
Let’s re-arrange moments of our lives
Leaving the sad ones behind
Let’s disconnect together, like we used to do
Drift into our created shared consciousness
But this time, let’s shut the doors behind us
So that we never fall into reality again
Never again

The Comical Spiral of Sorrow

Close your eyes
Fake a new dream
Watch the night pass by
As the daytime colors disappear
Recall instants of your day
That was similar to any other day
Nothing special to mention
Nothing much to say

Disconnect.

Another year passing by
What difference does it make?
You are in the comical spiral of sorrow
One day you will close your eyes
Longing for a dreamless night

Can you go on faking it all your life?

Immortal fragments from Murakami's Kafka on the shore

She and I are in two separate worlds, divided by an invisible border

I think she found the right words by bypassing procedures like meaning and logic. She captured words in a dream, like delicately catching hold of a butterfly's wings as it flutters around. Artists are those who can avoid the verbose.

As long as there is such a thing as time, everybody's damaged at the end, changed into something else. It always happens, sooner or later.

I have swallowed a rain cloud whole.

Somewhere I don't know about, something is happening to time.

My lips are tightly sealed. Words are asleep in a corner of time.

Can nothingness increase?

Beyond the edge of the world, there is a space where emptiness and substance nearly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop.

In a place where time isn't important, neither is memory.

A moment in time*

In my sleepless nights
I sit and wonder
Where did I go wrong?
When was the turning point?
Did I overdo it?
Did I over feel my excitement for life?
Did I set my hopes too high
Leaving me disappointed in anything below the sky?

At dawn my dreams speak to me
Why, to them, do I turn my back?

I am fetching a way back
To when I was a happier person
When I used to look ahead, oversee the darkness, and stare into the colors of the rainbow, that rainbow that old friend, by the end of the tunnel

I am walking backward to find that spot again
When I used to find sunrays amidst heavy rain
And vibes of peace of mind amidst a chaotic pace of life

I am looking backward but the path I have followed seems to have disappeared
It was swallowed by my memory

Even my own brain is turning against me

Lost control*

She was speeding downhill in a vehicle that lacked wheels
The space was void around her
Darkness was all she could see through the seemingly never ending windshield
Darkness and the brown soil
The vehicle was hitting the ground recurrently
Bumping into small rocks that were flying from each side
There were no breaks she could push
No power switch that could make the engine stop
There was only a steering wheel she kept trying to get hold of
But every time she thought she was in control
She found her body flying inside the vehicle
Her legs in the air, her hands determined on the wheel
Gravity only seemed to work outside, pushing the vehicle down
But on the inside, she couldn’t even be in command of her own body
No matter how hard she tried
She lies awake in bed, knowing that all of this is but a dream
But knowing is not enough to get her out of it
Just knowing … has never been enough

Uncommon Sense.

I promised myself not to fight it
To let it be
To step back and observe
Where all of this will eventually lead
Where the road would stop
And I will see my own body
Standing faced with a bush
In a place lacking colors
I even wondered how it would feel like
To reach a place with no return

Yet somewhere along the path
The urge took over me
My skin started itching
My mouth became watery
My mind, out of control

I had to write.

Even though writing meant making no sense at all…

And then I sat back
And looked at this page, thinking…

Will it ever come back?

The world is a book*

Untitled

I am sleepless on a strange land.

Urban love*

What are you doing under my skin?

I am sun burnt, on a cloudy winter day
Color blind in wonderland
Speechless, a witness in a court
Deaf in a Pink Floyd concert
Lost in my own apartment
Thirsty in a pool of wine

Nothing is making any sense.

A thought

For a person to go through this thing called life
S/he has to be either a poet or a suicidal

All other flesh bound entities
That do not fit these two categories
Do not exist

They live
From the mere lack of death

But they do not exist.