We

We have so much information,

Still, we don’t understand.

We put our lives on display,

Only we’re not living.

We try to accumulate,

We try to gain,

We try to bargain

Our own conscience.

We sell ourselves

Like products,

Still, we hate being used.

We appreciate the shallow,

But we can’t recognize

Our own souls.

We pursue happiness

Using money,

We pursue dreams

That aren’t ours,

We believe

What they tell us to.

We have no freedom,

Because we don’t need it.

We like our cages,

Filled with technology

And pretty lies,

Concealing the truth.

We are decadent,

But we claim civilization.

We use religion

To start wars,

We use ignorance

To let people die of hunger.

We refuse to wake up.

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One step at a time

Give,

Not just take.

Love,

Not just hate.

Kindness,

Before rudeness.

Mindfulness,

Before thoughtless.

Appreciate,

Before it’s too late.

Forgiveness,

Instead of resentfulness.

Living,

Instead of existing.

December’s revolution

When the winter came hard, winter is tied up to so many events, maybe because the change isn’t easy as this season can’t be gently. Today’s grown-ups were babies back then, just beginning their journey while their parents were on the streets, asking for freedom, from a regime that lasted more than four decades.

The communists didn’t let you think and if you did you were thrown in prison, in chains, tortured until they believed you forgotten who you are. They wanted to rule sheep not lions and they were getting close. Food was missing from the tables, honesty was a luxury no one afforded, friends were informers and even thoughts were controlled by these jackals holding tight to their undeserved power.

Right before Christmas people had enough so, the silence of the cold was dissipated by the truth, coming out from every chest that could still beat in their ancestor’s rhythm, those ancestors who faced empires, hoards, kings and queens, shedding their blood for freedom. On the streets people of all ages were asking for their life back, soldiers were forced to backfire on their own people, confusion gave place to death, countless lives lost forever in the name of justice.

In an apartment block, tall and grey, you see grey was the color favored by the regime along with the red of the people’s blood, there were two little kids. They came into this world not knowing they would live the change, not knowing what that change is but even they could sense that day wasn’t ordinary. Playing, as it is natural for their age, they hear sounds which drawn them to the small window of the apartment. Time stopped as their tiny eyes were looking into the horizon, their little hands grabbed the window sill when a bullet goes shouting in their direction.

In the street a group of teenagers dressed sloppy were under fire from other teenagers who were wearing a green uniform. The same blood running in their veins, living under the same sky and praying to the same god, they were now in opposite sides. The ones with their heads high up knew the stake and were well aware that their lives didn’t belong to them anymore but to their country, to the future of the babies born in a black time who can’t grow like they did.

The bullet headed towards the window guarded by the babies had been pulled by a shaking hand which wasn’t aware of the reasons or the situation, it was following orders. An unexpected current of wind diverts the bullet’s trajectory right before hitting the window’s glass, passing by the kids’ heads, missing an inch from disaster.

Mothers come running and they find their babies smiling with excitement by the looks of something new and weird, grabbing them to their chests, looking at the bullet stuck in the wall and hoping for their husbands to come back alive.

After days of terror and after the revolution started the dawn of a new age, the mothers were still waiting for their men which were never found again, so many disappeared, but the babies were still there, promising a bright new future.

The patient’s monologue

There are things in life which you never touched or they have never touched you, you know of their existence as you know that your neighbor has a dog, even though you haven’t seen it, the barking lets you aware of its presence.

Hospitals, those places full of people hurt, in pain, living in an altered reality, you imagine. Maybe you have visited someone there but until you’re not in that bed, tied by something which seems out of your reach, you can’t fully comprehend all the experience that lies behind those walls.

That was a very cold day, middle winter, which is harsher than the beginning or the end because it seems endless in that moment, you know it has started for some time but you also know there is a long way until the end and the waiting seems unbearable. You want to stay hidden like a bear, and when you finally come out maybe you will see the sun and you will hear the birds, ah the birds, the sign of spring, of rebirth, we are all born again in the spring.

The mind always looks for an escape from the unbearable moment but you have no choice than to come back and it hits you harder, the reality of you, laying, helpless in a bed, white of course, a white world when you feel it grey, that white annoys you. Everything is out of place even though there is an order: nurses, doctors, management staff, cleaning staff, kitchen staff, patients, visitors, all have their place and their time. For the patient it’s all a chaos in which it’s thrown without its will.

The doctors are gods, their hands, their knowledge and their will is almighty, they are your new god or reaper, they have power over you and you know it, you’re scared. Your family treats them with the highest respect, nurses obey them and they give you a sentence or a resolution. You wonder how they feel because they try not to show their emotions, sometimes you wonder if they have any but then you find out they also have families, wives, kids, parents, they’re human.

Nurses are the ones caring, like a mother with her child, they feed you, they give you the medicines required, they clean after you, take you to the bathroom and you feel so low, degraded from your adult state into that of a parasite. Nurses are divided into two categories: those who still care and those who just function, like a robot, I don’t think they ever cared, they don’t seem to feel, similar to a block of ice and you are dependent.

The funny thing is that even your vocabulary changes, you’re no longer a friend, a daughter, a sister or a woman, you’re the patient and the ones dear to you are visitors. You learn about visiting hours, solitude hours, painkillers hours and slowly your world is not the same anymore, it’s their world, of the people dressed in white.

In the white world people connect because there is a space, there is time and there is solitude. Talking seems like an escape and it creates different worlds, magical worlds where you’re full of life, you take action, you’re in charge. Patients talk, nurses chatter, about everything that happens around and outside, you realize the outside still exists, despite you, goes on and you wait  for your come back, you wait to feel human again.

A sinner’s cry

Broken within,

I could never

Atone for my sin.

The monster inside

Feeds with my soul,

Never satisfied.

Even if I broke

Every bone in my body

On the perfection altar,

Won’t be enough.

I would disembowel this flesh,

If I knew

It stopped feeling.

Instead,

I drift between worlds.

Wanting to go beyond,

Beyond self.

So that my ego

Would disappear,

Vanish in thin air,

The broken

To be repaired.

Human

Who are the many?

Those who suffer

Day and night,

Not giving up the fight

For survival.

On the other side,

Those who feast all life

For the many enduring.

Injustice is a way of living,

Born from pain.

There is no gain.

It’s all in vain.

Peace ceased to be

But an ideal

Laying on the bottom

Of a tiny box, called humanity.

My cry seems my own

Because so many are thrown

Against each other,

Hater not lover.

Cultivating is something

I’ve learned,

In love and peace,

From now on.

You can say

It’s our own.

The beautiful

A man born to lead,

A tribe made to succeed.

Perfection was their goal,

Beauty seemed all.

Their beautiful leader lured

Everything around,

But his kind heart was sad.

They all couldn’t see beauty

They just saw the surface

Polished to drawn:

Enchanted

Before

Haunted.

Then caught

In its fame,

Then comes

The shame.

A gift from god?

A curse from the devil?

Arrogance,

Said the ignorant.

Naïve,

Said the grown ups.

Guilty,

Found by myself.

Without hesitation,

The beautiful leader,

Unmatched in this world,

Does something extreme,

But rather required.

Destroys its own looks

With its own hands.

Blood sheds

On the horrific marks.

Smooth sand beach

Becomes

The carved mountain.

But he finally made them see.

Our souls speak,

Before our eyes meet.

Longing

Even the silence was weird, the eyes were down, lips were squeezed and the angst was there, fading between chairs. They all waited for something, for someone, for some…

– How did it feel around her?

Perfume of loneliness in a coat of despair, just feeling it deep enough to sparkle a sharp yet briefly pain in your stomach so you had to be shaken at seeing her…

She had a kind of exotic beauty, a stillness in the dark, mysterious and so lost at times with a child’s pure smile…

I didn’t even get to pull her eyes a mere second of their existence. She was unreachable, unattainable and every impossible word that you could imagine.

Her road was always to the sky and I foolishly believed mine was into the ground and that prevent me to get close until she reached out her hand like a savior, now I get it, she wanted me to touch the light…

I always felt like she must have found out this big secret of life which gave her the fuel to shine but in the end I realized, her fuel was love, that kind of love that doesn’t await reply, it just gives…

The intensity of her soul was a jar dedicated to humanity and in this moment…

She’s missing.

Mourning

Happy is the young,

The old say.

Full of dreams

And joy.

Amazons,

Born to lead on

The way.

But darkness

Strikes,

Taking them

Away.

Tears can’t dry

On the wrinkles,

How could they?

When a parent

Mourns his child

GONE

In smoke

And fire.

Rising souls,

To heaven,

Angels,

Lead our way.

Autumn

Light invites me out

Where there are pines

And fluffy trees

But again

There are more feet,

Than I want,

More talk,

Than I asked

More cold,

Than I can take.

The sea of the sky

And the malus leafs

Propelling

Via infinity,

Are completed by

The gold brown,

Which is announcing

That the lady in white

Will be coming.

Conversations of love – A love forever?

 

Stage 4

Love is beautiful, these two words are meant for each other like two souls, but love just like beauty is changing its flow, its shape and size, glowing in a totally different color, in the end.

The Universe is linking vibrations, matching frequencies, sends and retrieves but that doesn’t mean that acceptance comes easy.

When you love, you change and become greedy, you want to hold that happiness forever but this is a tricky word, forever, what does it mean?

– He was supposed to come, he was supposed to be here! Where is he? Maybe he’s late, maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’m selfish, maybe I love him too much! No, I will stop it!

It was morning, the birds were having their morning chatter, the sun dropped by to say “Hi” and the smiles of excitement were painted on the kitchen wall, right next to the coffee.

The date, this wait she seemed unable to face with calm, she was all over the place and in the same time in the right place, their place and anticipation was going off the roof.

Today, similar to the last ten times, the air seemed heavy, the wait was already stopped by the sound of the news: he can’t

She wasn’t aware of the existence of that word before, he taught her. A grey word, which imprinted channels in her soul, marking her with another scarlet letter and they hurt, building tears with heat and cold.

In the other side of the town he was drunk, facing his own issues, his own struggle and his own pain.

They got away, one from the other, as if they never met, only the shiver of a sudden feeling from time to time, seemed familiar.

That was in their young years…

… now they are old and they are chatting with the birds, somewhere on a beach in Neverland.

Conversations of love – Love story

Stage 3

It was summer, it was sunny, it was the perfect time for love. Trees merge with water, weeds with flowers and the two souls in their midst were already enchanted with euphoria.

A strange couple, these two, for any passerby that may inertly and unknowingly interrupt their story. Similar to kids in joy but with grown-up faces they were dreaming, pushing the limits of normality, marinated in yearnings and hope.

He was taking care of her imagination and she managed his inspiration.

– Did you know that snails can walk on a blade without getting hurt?

– I like snails, they are cool. Maybe they are like an army, the sergeant goes in front and then each soldier follows him.

– What would you do with an army of snails?

– I would send them over to you to bring you by my side whenever I want, I would like that.

She smiled and he was pleased to see her reaction. But she wasn’t smiling just because of the snails but because she noticed that when he was pleased, satisfied or happy he was mumbling music through his lips, an unique sound which made her eyes twinkle every time.

– Would you runway with me?

– Where should we go?

– Let’s go to Wonderland.

– And play with Alice and the rabbit.

– Next we should go to a deserted island.

– And live there, just the two of us alone, playing and bathing all day?

– Yes, and I would be dressed in flax with a sombrero on my head and you would be in a white dress, gently touching your perfect curves.

– When do we come back, in the world?

–Never or maybe we go to Neverland…

Conversations of love – Is it love?

 

Stage 2

– Time is irrelevant, some say but either way it flows, and we flow along in our own pace, until we reach the next station of our souls, moving on towards the lesson required or ascending where it belongs to. Time is tricky, when you love, sometimes it’s unfolding at the speed of light and other times is stubborn like a mule, going in a slow motion setting.

Lovers don’t bother about it, they count it relentlessly until the next meeting, next touch of the lips, next smile and the next butterfly.

A man, in his late years, dressed like an authoritative figure goes along a busy street, somewhere in a metropolitan area accompanied by a tall, dark and somewhat cheeky young man telling him his perspective on life but also trying to find out more about his thoughts.

– I thought I have everything I need in my life until I met her, she is like a tsunami, turned my life upside down, started a revolution and she smiles when I tell her all that. Love or making love, I never seemed to be able to decide between these two and women, there are many. I am confused and intrigued in the same time, but well aware that I am drawn to her and I can’t stop. It’s driving me crazy!

– Maybe that’s because you never took women seriously, you always play like a little boy with its cars, always focused on work and always seeking thrills but if you’re lucky, there is this moment in life when you are taken off your feet, that’s what happened to you. Don’t look for answers and solutions, live it with all the passion you got boiling inside.

– Passion is something I’m used to, being shaken to my bone, not so much. I’m scared of one thing, hurting her, I don’t think I would be able to live with myself if I break that shining smile into tears.

–Then don’t. Live as you feel, follow your dreams and love my boy, love with all you got because that’s why we are born.

Conversations of love – I’m in love

 

Stage 1

Two women, two generations and the same blood running in their veins, were enjoying the afternoon at a coffee shop. The mother holds a book in her hands and the daughter holds a phone, each with their time but gracefully meeting between waves of technology and memories. The girl is joyful but a breeze of melancholy suddenly drops by when she tries writing something to a certain someone in a certain distant place.

The sea joined with the mountain,

The waves of water joined with those of music,

The blue feelings of the sky governed, by our god, the sun.

– I will write: I love you and I miss you like crazy and I wish you were here now, come back as fast as you can to my side.

–  If you do, you will be putting your heart in his hands, you will trust him with your happiness and your whole being with all its ups and downs.He may choose to crush your beautiful heart in its hands, he may drop it or toss it from hand to hand or he can forget that it’s in his hands and let it dry.

–I’m scared, I’m so scared of everything but in the same time I am pulled from my place and space in time to his, when I breathe, I breathe the same air as he does, the same wind touches my face after it touched his skin and I know, I just feel I belong with him, I believe that’s my purpose, to be by his side. We don’t need to talk, we don’t need to see each other because I feel the beating of his heart as if it was my own, his kisses and his touch as deeply as if they penetrated my flesh and they entered in my soul, he is in me and I’m in him, nothing can separate that bond, ever.

– You are full of confidence over something you have no saying, you just feel it. I’m scared and I would stop it all but I’m afraid you are already his, I just hope he is yours too.

Dream on child, this is the dream age when magic is more real than reality and love is a prophet. Smile child, smile as never before because you shall never will like that again.

Fate

In a space that I cannot define and a time I can’t seem to forget there was this memory which seemed to fade but in fact was always there, scratching my brain once in a while.

Images and sounds come back to life when I lay my head to rest, they take over by night and consume all that I have built during the day.

I was young, I still feel that young, it’s just that my body doesn’t seem to agree with me, I can’t say if time or my own hands degraded my being so much, punishing me to live with all these demons and with all my vices taking my hand and leading the way.

I seem to be so far from where I once was…

It was hot and the scent of white roses seemed to invade me, it was a moment that even today seems eternal, it can’t be defined, only by that scent, by those expansive pictures and by those two chambers, filled with elegant and refined people, all looking sleek, and me.

I don’t know, even to this day, why I went …

“Contemporary art is finally proven worthy…”, “This touches you in ways you could never knew it was possible” – these were words flying next to my ear but never actually touching me.

I was already bored because I couldn’t assess the art, I couldn’t lose myself in the roses, there were too many people, too much noise and too much pretension.

Right when I decided to leave I noticed the painting, it couldn’t be real but there it was: the man I have dreamed ever since I was little, it was really him, described perfectly by the touch of that artist’s fingers.

I was now shaken, should I leave or should I stay?

But my questions were irrelevant when the man from the picture entered, surreal, charming and with a pair of dark eyes looking into the deepest corners of my soul…

He was real and that was something I didn’t knew how to deal with so I ran away, slowly enough to see the head of a lady next to his as he went along, far away from me…

My feet seemed slowly and my breath was choking me, my body trembled and my mind went blank.

I went into the dark with a pain I had no idea I could ever feel only to be stopped by a cold touch, should I turn around or should I run?

If I turn around maybe I’ll find happiness but if I continue to keep on moving maybe I’ll find MY SELF.