words create worlds
There will be a time Of no time A too late time For being sorry. (Speak now or silence will erase all wounds! No scars, no leaves, no flowers!) Sometimes you need to bleed it all out, To carve deep into the skin To peel it off from the world, the old times world.
Poetry comes and takes possession of your mind, your words, your vision… sometimes of your whole life. She takes everything because she gives everything. She has her rights. This new book, still in the process of pre-printing, called Memories, went through many changes. Who knows, it might be a natural, like the natural change of
Only she knows This sadness (Always hidden in hindrance) this quest for joy (a distance between us) always painful and wise (an always that stays in our eyes.) Can we survive the sadness of this world? (Only she knows, the Mother.) Image source: http://www.roerich.org/museum-paintings-catalogue.php
How many todays till eternity? Calling the name (thousands of trumpets twisting the air) a stamp, a picture, a drop of sun (encircled by lines and dots) is honoring that fragment we know (forgetting the vastness of the unknown) living beyond the boundaries of letters (though) we honor a name and a time (thus
Too hot for a poem, too hot for a dream, too hot for a feeling (except this song thrusting through the heat, a song that I heard when I still hoped you do exist). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCeX6ONLvgs
Worlds of Words 