Category Archives: Drumul spre mine

Rock and Roll (II)

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Rock and roll took my soul
this demon crawled inside and put fire to my bones,
it came hot like bad emotion
pressed hard, turned fast on the highway to the heart,
I find myself completely lost
Oh give me dear God a sharper sense to seize the danger!
drums are everything I hear
while dancing with a stranger the darkness feasts on fear,
where do my notes begin?
black tea once a Tuesday evening ended faster than it should,
I wonder if it really would
for sleeping on the music makes the lyrics fall in place…

…

September 33

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It was late night September 33
moments after serving cake on candle light,
the groom got sparkles in his eye and everybody cheers –
we are dancing,
worlds apart we are never near
and messengers go back and forth with fear,
coming down from stars in purple dress
once burnt it turns to dust nonetheless…

It was two past midnight on September 33
I got a cab ride from the venue to my dreams
and glitter shines above the petrol park
while my best friend walks in tandem silently,
I would have lit a cigarette, would have drank some wine
but words was all I had and sent them all to you,
the page I turned was empty painted blue
and I became a stranger sailing through…

October ends (II)

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October ends in Paris, once more the barrel’s filled
I’m missing up nobody but feelings I have willed,
the church’s tower burned down to the ground
now you see the skies when kneeling at the holy crown
rains wash out your sorrows and you dry up in the sun
and wonder if your writing could paint the story right…

The trains you used to book have never ceased to run,
where Pissarro still brushes up on the rue de l’Hermitage
you’ve slept on air with roaches running errands in the dark,
while the cold steps to the showers woke you every time
you gave it from your heart and could follow far beyond
all you asked in change was loving not some nickles in a jar…

October ends in Paris and November follows close
in a wagon in a forest on this day they stopped the war,
drinking wine to celebrate I keep the wishing to myself
for I have won this battle yet soreness hardly ever fades,
‘What happens to the Heart?’ asked Cohen from the side
‘You see, I knew about the ending’ was all I’ve ever got…

Stone-giant

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Sixty steps, the stairway’s broken and you hear the stereo noises
on your knees you heal your bruises
and the raindrops start to roll down the forehead that is cold,
questions looking for their answers in a song that’s pretty dull
where Nottingham has roots in stories so it dreams itself alive
and its paths diverge in alleys that run farther from the Sun…

I have chosen, Ego sum, I was wrong,
perfect sense does not exist in a state of altered mist
it is pressure that transforms dirty coal into cliché shining bliss
– and not a kiss;
his ribs are cut from stone and so are all the looks he’s given
and the devil smiled and put a tingle on your lower Eastern lip…

To my lover

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Rise and shine my morning star, breathe in air and feed on light,
fight the ghosts with found new heart
don’t wait long for I’m not far,
in the valley of despair salt does melt and builds up hope
for the prayers that’d been told the dull dust may turn to gold
and the small steps that you took bring you closer to the truth,
needles and pins are painted green
and the youth that held your soul has evolved to so much more
and these bricks to make up walls went instead to patch up holes
in the houses where it’s cold
in the hands of those who fold…

Rise with mornings in the sun, naked feet to wash out dew
eyes wide open to the deeper blue
and I’ll love you to my bones where the dreams may come to…

Builder of Hopes

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I woke up as one of the many
dusting daily at the lowest floor,
I can read only one book forever
and words are written in gray in this Bible of mine,
the Preacher asked me to rise
stairways are open for steps to take
decisions are heavy anchors in the back,
fear is pouring onto me from a great cup
each moment is closer to regret
hopes are fading like shadows of an axe
and I try to start a fire
to let it burn the world from within…

High hopes are built in stone
none the other shall ever give the tone,
silver and gold, every piece is getting old
and swallowed by the Sea I’m drunk
and in the darkness I first start to see,
I walk towards the sky and do believe
pages rise from ashes like a Phoenix
telling stories I’d never dared to seed
and in the mirror I can see His deeds;
rise and shine my child
let the wind caress the temples I have built
hopes and dreams shall turn the world…

To my fans

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I am writing letters to my fans
groupies gathered at the electric fence –
it has been a while
I have missed you Kyle,
on the streets the life is tough
luckily I’ve found a cheap ass pub
fifteen pints for my last pounds,
hey Dolores dance a round
even if there is no tune
I will sing with you tonight
clothes and bother falling down,
and the poetry I wrote
is for the girls I almost loved
all I’ve felt and never told
put on plate to dine upon;
take the books before the burn
chapters noted must be read
pages folded shall be left
in this world there is no end,
cutting skin to look inside
hands are gloved, the spirit cold
I have yet to touch a heart
beating faster than the sun,
and the wall that goes forever
keeps it hidden from the rest
If I ever say those words
hope they trust to carry gold…

The long way home

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Is the stereo broken?
we have swimmers dreaming in the ocean,
in the color of our open wings
may it shine forever stolen bliss…

My poor warm beating heart
there are children playing on its grounds,
one story written for a good cause
has shaken me and made me thrive…

And I learn to slowly dance
wear a bow-tie and take a stand,
I’ll join my brothers in war
building fire better sooner than too late…

Is that on the radio
an old song that brings me childish joy,
I’ll be home on Sunday noon
range a silver shiny spoon….

Discours

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Ce soir je me permets rêver…
j’écoute le bat d’horloge de la salle de bains,
immergé dans une chaude vie fluide qui caresse mes limites,
un verre de vin de Saint Émilion,
un témoignage qu’a fait naître un livre,
des brèves messages d’une ancienne copine,
mes pensées prennent du recul,
je me vois dans mon intimité,
ça faisait longtemps que je n’ai pas décidé que pour moi,
je me sens libre,
porteur d’une liberté inviolable…
je suis un homme !
il me restent trois semaines à vivre dans le désert,
du temps qui s’écoule au même temps que ma médiocrité…
je serai un soldat véritable dans peu de temps,
amené à vivre dans l’ombre de grand Broca,
j’ai des oreilles,
des yeux,
les doigts crispés sur une lame prête à couper,
je me transforme,
je redevienne –
on m’a touché la main avec des lèvres noires,
je ne le mérite pas plus que lui,
c’est lui l’héro qui a vaincu,
et moi l’apprentie,
je suis Ses bras et je suis Sa volonté –
un martyr qui sourit !