Category Archives: Strigăte în noapte

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…

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.

 

Alice

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Mirrormask 2005

Is it me or is it Alice,
when I cut the rope it starts raining,
hands be moving and two penny rolling down the page to thirty,
show me mercy…
show me kindness
I am hiding in the laughing, smiling faces to the floor
and the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting old,
fancy ice-cream on the highway, chocolate in the heart of storm
it’s a name my lips be spelling as a fan of Rolling Stones,
like a hopper in the grass
like a monster with a dress
they had red wine for a breakfast in the middle of the west…
So is it me, or is it Alice,
days were gone and couldn’t notice
Grandma’ told me to be fair
but the heart of things to come will not take another turn,
fifty steps along the rhyme may not spill the fairy’s tail
nor the pockets full of gold
and the hundred sixty something of the words I could have told;
Alice darling,
are we really getting old?
the story stands, the hippie hands, with tattoos at the ends,
a suburb house with funny trees
two kids and a dog called Steve and a cat we gave no name…
Is it me or is it Alice,
that we want to start anew
getting young is not for lonesome but for all the very few,
killing me and killing you
giving birth to someone new….

Colors

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I am a color,
that changes with thoughts that travel my soul
sometimes I am blue or green or even black as the deep
and later on I turn to purple, white or yellow or sunrise…
They tried to give me a name,
to call me somehow, to recognize me when passing by,
but failed to see inside my core
so no name is able to define me as a whole,
for I am no rose, nor red nor the shade of sad,
I am a feeling that glides with the aspects of life
and I can be dark and pink at the same time,
and when you blink I am gone, already turned into another one…
I am a color,
and things that I touch I paint them with facts,
so they stand witness in the past of days that came and went
of ideas that pierced my brain,
of long rives that fall into great seas that turn into oceans,
that carry on the colors of the birth of the universe
and along with them a little part of me,
the color of existence, the color of unknown,
I paint the world with parts of my heart,
with colors that turn into sounds…
I am a color,
and my words are bits along the spectrum of white,
objects that live and die at the same time
I am a balance between need and fulfill
and once put together I am gone as you will,
I am a color that can not be seen…

Apă

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Belgian painter Henri Evenepoel took a selfie, 1898

Ești o apă și am să te numesc Sisyphe,
ziua mă vezi, noaptea te strig, te sorb printre buze și în priviri
îmi săruți degetele picioarelor, rece, mă regăsesc surprins;
ai corpul rotund ca o înfiorare și trupul răsfoit din care curg gânduri,
iar în adâncuri curenții sunt idei fluide,
nu ai brațe ci fraze translucide ce se împletesc cu sufletul din mine…
Într-o dimineață credeam că-ți disting fruntea între trestii
și nu luna pierdută în contemplare de sine,
atât de lină încât cerul era una cu tine
și somnul așternuse o liniște netedă ce se stingea,
dar când am întins degetele am simțit rouă pe gene și urme de pași…
Vreau să îți vorbesc și nu mă aud,
văd amintiri ce se scoboară ca o ceață peste cântecul tău –
sunt cuvintele mele pe care nu le rostesc,
ce stau albastre și mă privesc;
tu ești o apă iar eu, Iubito, sunt Narcis…