Passion

Vanilla scent spreading into daybreak
The journey awaits
Not her desire

Unsaid music

Time has withered

All colors too

Only your echo is murmuring

Afar..

The Odyssey is over

The music is shattered

The yesterdays dream

No shore to come to

No word to embrace

We are here

In smiling companion

The Odyssey is over

The sand glass is free

To Casey

Silence…and music bashfully emerges

Like an unsaid perfume
the Word awaits

No Shadow

No Light

Never send to know for whom the bell tolls – it tolls for thee

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend’s
Or of thine own were:
Any man’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.

– John Donne

The mirrors watch

Silence is unsaid… – like Love…

Hypnos

The afternoon has fallen asleep

The silent mirrors are also dreaming…

Life is a glance away


“I love your poem”, she said enthusiastically.
She had seen me writing at the café and she was keen to hear what I wrote. She was nice, graceful, with a classical beauty, her elegance came from inside.

“It is good, you have managed to catch this fleeting moment of the afternoon”, she continued.
“You can almost see the beautiful sunset, rain falling, people going by…this dreamy atmosphere.”

She had a glance as if she heard the poem with her eyes…

“Isn´t it strange”, she went on, “most of this people going by are so incredibly stupid.
They´re  always in a big hurry, as if running  a race, seeing  nothing of this simple but great beauty…”