Author Archives: Krstn Drupp

Innocence

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Give me back my innocence,
help me to forget the deeds, memories and broken wings
and all the years I’ve wasted running from the real things,
give me back my childhood years with all the mysteries it had,
and the dreamless sleep at night in the summer of my life
put it back to where it were long before the night had fallen,
long before the God was gone,
give me back the youth I’ve much despised
with all the boring afternoons, far from civilization…

Give me back to my old self without the teachings of the men,
without the dead, the sins, betrayal and the crushing pain,
take me back to days when fantasies were in the books you’ve read
and rebellion was thought to be running to the hills with others,
long into the past that’s gone before the dog was caught and slayed –
give me mercy for the present and a chance to build a future
without fire, without murder and the horrors I have witnessed,
give me back the cold cathedral and the kneeling to repent…

Give me back my heart untouched with all the love and caring,
give me back to when I still had a chance of happiness
and the infinite stargazing and the nights that never end
and the twisted years of magic with the thrills of the unknown,
higher power of the essence guide once more my shaking steps
to the day before today other than my yesterday…

Ghost-town

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I am wondering in the darkest of nights
where my steps seek the ground before their way down,
there is no soul in the streets and cardboard boxes block all exits,
it is so dark the voice can not pass and I may as well close both my eyes…

The smell of skin I feel it’s unfamiliar, fogy and synthetic,
a hand grabs my leg and I stumble to find my path,
it hurts from the skin and goes to the bones
it’s a song but all I can tell apart are people who scream,
and in the absence of the sun the world doesn’t cool down
so I melt into the cement and finally found a way out…

Where is the white horse that brought me here?
I can see the saddle on a pile of skulls,
might as well take a Harley to next town,
soldier of fortune going through hell and fire
does this make me feel or is it still a nightmare?

Journal

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lost-in-time-joan-gossett

Do I live in the world or does the world resides inside me,
flickers of joy,
questions and figments of times I have lived are passing me by,
memories of reading a book on the shore,
the drugs that I had in the dark,
the face that could light up any spark,
one, two, the past is visiting me
let it forever be,
my eyes still seek the end and the eternity
for what I have seen I can not forget,
don’t pour sugar on my dreams
don’t put salt on my wings,
I am an Icarus that fell somehow
that sow its wings and took the long way to the sun;

Bless me father for I have sinned,
in my shadow I shall find the resolution
can you see beyond?
can you smell the speed of sound with your hands frozen,
love is in the heart of Eve
and I am here where I am not,
no ring shall fall as there is no hand
slow the pace,
I long for days to clear the yesterday
far and far away…

Of love, limbo and other l-words…

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limbo-sign

Once upon a time,
in Piazza del Limbo, in a city with a name pretty hard to spell,
stood for the good and stood for the bad,
with a stick in one hand and asking for water,
it was a man with the feet in the dirt and the heart on fire

run, run, run
and love, love, love
you’ll find everything a young boy desires
both for the angels and for the devils
gold for the poor, enlightenment for the few
rise from the dust and reach for the stars
can you tell the difference in the hard of the night?
can you see the light if you’re born without eyes?

Sitting on a stone which in rain and in cold he called home
where St. Peter used to climb and pray for the people,
he embraced his shadow and he starts to write
words forged in darkness with the truth he could harness…

run, run, run
and love, love, love
…

In Piazza del Limbo where stories are turning to dust,
where the sky lost its stars or the night is always young,
he knelt at the bottom of the stairway, hands locked in prayer
for the sixty steps that were, for the sixty yet to come…

Nimicul

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Seara se așterne nimicul
și curge peste arbori, pe trunchiuri până la iarba ieșită între nervuri,
culege merele spălate de rouă odată cu coșuri negre de fum,
îmbracă încet, țiglă cu țiglă, acoperișul și intră pe geamuri în casă,
inundă sufrageria și îneacă într-însul canapeaua, biroul și visul…

Mă privește în ochi și mă pătrunde
ca o liniște rece mă umple de lipsă de gânduri și lipsă de uitare,
cu versuri albe rescrise și reluate în ritmuri bizare,
nimicul sădește somnul pe la rădăcini, pe tălpi și în întrebare,
și crește cu noaptea, se adâncește și nimicul dispare…

 

Autoportret

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Alb și negru,
când scriu sufletul meu se preschimbă în umbre
și fiecare literă devine o sete de vorbe,
e sare printre rânduri și cuvintele sunt sculptate în pereți de sare
și e sete în portretele ce curg din uitare,
și în ochi se strecoară fum când plouă cu soare…

Cerul e plumb – se așterne și se coboară,
pe umeri se așează nu lumea ci Marea Povoară
și unghiile îmi sunt solzi de sare,
cu care macin stâncile și le mut din cale,
și norii adânci ce alunecă spre seară
se desprind din trupul fără picioare…

Alb și negru,
sufletul meu nu e nimic decât o stare…

The thief

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The Book Thief

Hail to the thief…
sunken memories and angry bits, he took them all
and I lay here under the sun,
its rays are burning holes that descend into the pit where I’ve last seen my soul
it turned the skies to ruby diamonds that reflect the question marks that anchor present to the past
and all the rust of chains and heavy ropes – it’s time to cut them loose…

Hail to the thief that stole my heart and broke me free,
my constraints are all self made,
built upon a reasoning  of faulty images that came to me as deities,
but now I am back to open space
and I see all these pages empty waiting to be ridden into higher conscience…

Hail to the thief…
this is how I’ve learned to fly
leaving on the ground all the doubts that kept me down
and passengers that chose all the right directions but not mine,
it’s an airplane filled with summer and complicity and table games
and I don’t try to win a race for it’s I that keeps the pace…

Amintiri

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Johanna Harmon - Tutt'Art@

Era într-o seară de martie
când cerul se încruntă și tu te plimbai pe jumătate nălucă,
agățată de două gânduri, împinsă de trei cuvinte,
pașii te poartă singuri și tu mergi înainte…

Port astă-seară citate din tine,
nebuni ce am fost pentru ziua de mâine…
aveai dreptate în unele privințe
tăcerea e un dar ce chinuie și minte,
te caut în muzee și-n actrițele diverse
și în Vis retrăiesc din clipele perfecte…

Iubirea mea, moartea e de formă
din lut suntem zidiți, din ceară și vorbe,
și este o vreme ce-i ruptă de toate
unde și acum ne îmbrățișăm în șoapte,
eu și tu și vise pentru lumea toată…

Era într-o seară, în parcul cu mere
un buchet de speranță legat de durere,
și după trei cuvinte am mers înainte
cu pașii departe, cu pieptul de fiere,
Iubito e seara de Înviere…

Ziggy

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Hello Ziggy my old friend
habits catch with me again,
we have seen the stars in motion with a dead friend long ago,
winter passes and I can not recall that cold,
yet tonight I am far away from Ground Control…

One…
two…
time is sleeping though,
love is passing by,
as I boil the coffee beans she tells me what she means
no books, no words, no signs to read,
only naked lips on the descending hills…
three…
four..
what in the world I am waiting for?
Uncle Tom I am not coming home…

Ziggy brother I am lost
the course I plotted turned out wrong
and it’s a one way only road
the engine’s hit and gas is low,
and when I took a look below I’ve seen the Black Star on the go…

Drink with me,
let us share that bottle I have kept from ’85
for tonight I’m loosing temper
and the day that comes forever is a stranger in blue jeans,
no one knows the chords it plays
or the hour when the alarm clock starts to ring and never stops;
Ziggy dearest I am waving
and the mirror mask is smiling,
giants float above the square and give away the key
five…
six…
I haven’t seen you in 154 weeks,
your voice, your arms, your sex
I can’t even tell the color of your face
black or white or were you green and you came down from between the stars?
seven…
eight…
and it’s getting so late…
one slippery moment too late,
Ziggy love I do believe we are really dead.