Flee from these arms
They are no longer familiar
about how you should be touched
Tiptoe out of this heart of mine
It has forgotten how to love
In the same pure way it did before
Run away from this mind of mine
It has become a land mine
It looks calm but beneath stoking disaster
the whirl wind is coming
it will cast aside everything that's funny
mortals will find everything sensitive
or inappropriate
lets laugh at our follies
before crooked mortals foment in them
and grow new extremely sensitive skins
as sensitive as their loins
lets laugh at our intellect
or lack thereof - or lack thereof
when we elect leaders
let's laugh before it becomes a crime to
have a dissenting view
laugh at your girlfriend's bulbous nose
laugh at her poor cooking skills
before she stops finding it funny
before you become an eyesore
The soft wind kisses your soft cheeks
You raise your hands as if they are wings
Because they are wings
And because you are ready to fly away
To distant lands of the free
The tinkling cold water kisses your dainty feet
You are ready to walk on water - like Jesus
And seek shores that promise greener pastures
You are not afraid of snakes anymore
May be one will offer you an apple
For you are done with these damn lemons
Did we ever have to bargain
for a shred of hope?
Did we ever have to look at
the distant horizon,
And plead with our calloused hands?
Yes, once, twice...
four...seventy times
And we still do
We are bargaining for a millionth of hope
A grain of hope
So that the nights does not seem longer.
And the days harsher
Did we commit unforgivable sins?
Maybe...
May be we lied to merchants of hope
Or angels that ferried hope
Or we kicked poor scrawny animals
That came with good tidings
We do not know
Hence we toil
Maybe today we our children won't sleep hungry
It still flows,
a river seeking vain shores
sleek in its meanders,
over rocks,
flowing,
an endless chuckle of water,
uniting with the bird's songs
songs that sound like distant dirges
it flows like a vulture,
circling above - waiting
waiting for an imminent death.
The sun pours its light on unwanted dreams
Scorching it, withering its sweet bloom
The scents of the dream slowly recede
To oblivion, or withdrawn by gods in charge of scents
Always – always – against one’s will
What's new under the sun?
Isn't what you consider new
existed thousands years ago?
Isn't you new love someone's ex?
Or a person he or she grew tired being around
So tired that their breathing irritated them
Nothing is new,
Not you, not me
We are all second hand goods
whether we like or not
Because someone like you has existed in the course of time
Live your life - it was preordained
