Poems, Poems, Poems

Motion

Trees with no leaves. One after one, waiting to greet people passing by.

Can you hear it?
Do you sense it?
Will you feel it?

The blackbird knows. It watches the grey sky, perhaps waiting for its companions. The river knows. It moves. I’m moved. I move.

Everything is in motion.

Uncategorized

Bubble

Nothing really matters
When you’re inside the bubble
It all doesn’t come to effect
As long as your circle is closed up

Life is colourful
Inside your world
Whatever is floating around
On the outside, won’t reach you

Won’t touch you
Can’t drag you down

Until you reach Truman’s outer wall

It will tear you off
Will influence your world

From the inside, it reaches you
Whatever is floating around
All inside your life
And life becomes grey

As soon as your circle is replaced
By reality, and you understand
You were in just a bubble
Now everything definitely matters

And life begins.

Uncategorized

Eventually

Outside, the greys blend
To convert to marble they tend
The opaque curtain of rain
Falls down, like a silver chain

Elsewhere, the differences merge
To create one single voice
To cause change, they urge
They’re much more than just noise

Inside, thoughts meet and roam
To watch over, to treasure the box
To keep the secret of the fox
Eventually, the souls will feel home.

Poems

Life

Simple. Woven.
Straight. Squarey.

This is life like you used to know it.
Like you learned to know it.
Just like you always had one.
Structured. Ordinary.

Complex. Curious.
Curvy. Captivating.

This is the life you need to have.
Like you have to know it.
Unlike everything you ever had.
Spontaneous. Free.

Tales

Canvas

When your brain is blank, mind the gap. When you’re swamped, lay down. Explore the void, blank peace you are to have after you have accomplished of your own desires. Lay on your bed, and watch the ceiling. At first, it will be white – or whatever colour your ceiling has.

But don’t worry, continue watching. It will soon become a wonderfully arranged canvas. A canvas for your thoughts, first static, then, slowly and over time, more and more moving and dynamic. At first, it will start off having sharp, edgy edges. Rectangular ones. But let minutes and hours pass, allow for days and weeks to sink into your projections, and curves will start to appear.

Fuzziness is the one and only place where dreams are not fought down to cease, but they are beautifully allowed to coexist with whichever calamity occupies the most central parts of your inner self.

Shrink it small, allow the beauty of unjudged calmness to take over. And after it drew its lines, bold and then thin, sometimes golden, other times like floury ornaments – the pen will gradually and cooperatively hand over your conscience to the land of imagination.

Now it is your turn to colourise. You choose the palette, but make it shine. Make people stand and watch in awe. Let me be astonished by your accomplishments.

And one day, you will never want to miss the picturesque picture that you created with your own hands and ideas – unique and inspiring.

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