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‘Helpless’

lost in thought

Floating in the sea of helplessness

Among the biterness of nothingness

Within the routines and faces touched by sadness

Carried away in the fate’s darkness

Pondering over world’s unfairness

Searching for the promised brightness

And the unlikely happiness

Hoping for some kind of loneliness

But you’re never alone in your human weakness

The minutes run away into nothingness

You’re left with less and less time before death, drowning deeper into hopelessness

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‘Storm’

Storm

When a thunder broke the sunny day in half,

I was dreaming with my eyes fixed on the empty sky.

Oh, was it empty when I’ve fallen asleep,

Now dark carpet covered it.

The anxiety came with the colour of deep blue,

My dreams clouded with nightmarish glow,

The depth of the soul uncovered sharply,

Found myself begging for mercy of the black king

‘Oh Lord, bring back the sweetness of a thought!’

My dream – a nightmare,

Emptiness filled with pain

Of a heart longing for answers,

For questions not to remain.

Suddenly the wind blew taking a page away.

The page of the book of life danced its way to the grave.

In the muddy puddle the words were lost,

Never to be rediscovered,

Never to be written again.

‘Oh, dear Lord, is that what I was heading for?’

Still no secrets uncovered,

I’m standing in the middle of a storm.

‘Trust’

I could never see the sky

Through the joy

Through the pain

 

I could never realease my mind

Of my thoughts

Of my brain

 

I could never fall in love

With the right one

With no blame

 

I will forever trust my insanity

Despite the world

Despite what all of them may say

‘Recipe for the best art’

Almanach des Muses 1767

Broken heart

Is the best poet

Tears

Are the noble ink

Experience

– The most precious paper

Fallen angel

– The golden muse

And so I gather my lovely weapons

Come together my wings of feathers

Cause I know that from the art you get all the best

When strong feelings burst open your chest

‘Reality in Abstraction/The Art and the World’

New city

The rock on the wall

The clock on the road

Who bites into a roll

Fights in the war

The heart is the core

Of our eternal lore

Guts may be spoiled

Clouds on the board

Drawn to explore

The art to the core

What’s gone

Will be gone

What’s wrong

Will be questioned

The world writes its words

Just how it wants

Gives new meanings to words

Borders to be withdrawn

Promises to be short

Siblings to be shot

What’s more to be born

Among artists’ dying lot?

Read the rest of this entry

‘Wicked weather for a hurt heart’

Tempting tempests

Stylish storms

With wicked weather

I dance at dawn

At tricky twilights

And twee ones too

I spin and spill

My words onto winding vines

As my mind makes a missile of thoughts

And my hurt heart hurries like a hurricane

 

‘Artistic Lunacy’

I’m walking on a sunny day

Delighted to have sunlight on my face,

Pleased to have my say

By writing. On starry nights I glance into space

While the two worlds mix with each other.

A sudden feeling of discomfort, inexplicable.

I’ve got thoughts to gather

But they all split, it’s undeniable

Something’s been watching me

For a long, long time

From behind that cherry tree.

Have I committed some crime

I’ve written about?

I can see the light

Which is coming out

From my inside…

What a mad suicide!

Normal for lunatic poets

Who put their sorrow aside

By drowning it in the muse’s sockets.

 

Poetry Potluck