Poezia mea nu este lege scrisă-n tablele de piatră,
nici jurământ luat spre veșnicie
și versul ei nu este testament pentru cei ce sunt ori au să fie…
Cuvântul ei e sevă de simțiri,
statuie fără ceară în temple firave de speranță
și vocea ei e teamă
și pasul zări de neștiut;
poezia mea e suflet sădit în țărână roditoare,
e neliniște precum și calmul unui cer de seară…
Poezia mea este născută-n întrebare
și ritmul ei este o inimă ce doare
și strofele sunt brațe încleștate într-o fluidă îmbrățișare,
e dragoste aprinsă și dulce căutare…
Poemul de bază se compune dintr-un singur cuvânt, iar cuvântul care să exprime toate sentimentele mele într-o ordine descifrabilă este în continuare de negăsit. Am vrut să scriu o poezie, am încercat să încheg versuri, să adaug rimă după rimă, fie ea și albă, fără succes. Literele refuză să compună cuvinte, iar acestea din urmă nu răspund chemării mele ci se împrăștie după o regulă mai mult sau mai puțin browniană. Sentimente. Totul pornește de la sentimente și se termină cu sentimente. Motivația fiecărei acțiuni este într-o anumită măsură o simțire. Dragoste, foame, furie, teamă, frig… Și ce faci când tot ce îți rămâne în suflet e o vâltoare, un haos, o furtună ce răscolește și rupe fâșii din orice sens și care alungă orice speranță de ordine și frumos? Din contră există frumos și în mijlocul unei furtuni, dar pentru a înțelege trebuie să te poți delimita de vârtej, ori să fie vorba de furtuna altcuiva.
There must be a reason,
for each passing day there is a page of writings in your book
and a mark of every moment meant to fall,
what if I had the eyes to read?
and what if I knew each word you had to say,
wake me up before I cry
and pour little lies in my ear tonight,
I will find the shrine,
I shall bring back light,
will your fire burn on the last day of our time?
There must be a reason why a flock will kill the one that shines,
I’m a lonely wolf with a blue heart
and a stab in the rust seems to be too fast,
I have to slowly go,
my hands turning to clay day after day,
I grow roots out in the cold
and my heart grows as it was foretold,
go my children go,
forests so wide and rivers so long,
you are my blood and you’ll carry my song…
Let’s get lost in heaven on the streets we walked back then, it was cold, there were flowers going high and our steps were mixed with laughter, Sunday evenings in the park turned to nights in deep December and the dark just made us bright, you and me together – let’s get lost in heaven, two stars on the northern sky I will love you dearest till the last breath of my life…
I’m a dreamer, I will never loose my faith, teach me how to walk this Earth I confess to all the wrongdoings of my words, they turned your bones to fragments of the sea, let me build again a house to share in every city that we’ll be we’ll have an orange dog and I will make you tea, you will be my eyes and I will fight the demons that we meet…
Let’s get lost in heaven and bring back joy, all you’ve seen it’s still in there, the love is never gone, I am not a stranger, I did wrong, I repent my soul, let’s drink another coffee on the right side of the Rhone…
Fifty thousand words I wrote will lift me up to see the sky
and stars on the cold night,
cement under me,
wet –
I’m lost among all hearts I touched,
a part of me in every hand I hold
and memories…
I am a tree,
and branches fall
and fruits fell deeper when autumn called,
love never fades,
my hands are tied
and I can not stop the dream…
A child has died
and chances are for those who dare to bleed,
we’re going to war,
drop the swords and kneel for the free
and let it fall onto me,
my dreams…
Falling out of paradise,
they dragged me down and broke my spine
and the glory
all glitter that I had is gone,
and I must forget,
but devils are dancing circles in my head –
I’m haunted;
dust is covering my tracks
it’s just the name I have I can’t forget,
I rose prayers to the only god I had
and He cruelly listened so I’ve left,
if I’d hold you tight as you once said
will my heart stop and my soul turn red?
the dream is fed with blood and need,
and I am people wondering –
I hope you understand
the stars are purple to the end…
Who is Alice, I don’t know…
where is she I want to go,
who is Alice, will you show,
authors writing poems with her words
and the eyes that shine turn to rhymes,
who is Alice, she is always near
all I have is to reach and feel,
grab her hand, then walk and kneel…
Who is Alice dressed in blue
her heart is painted wide in you,
who is Alice dancing in the snow
she’ll open up your chest and see your soul,
and the wrong ways that you took
she may forgive if told the truth,
and all she asks is to love her back
to keep her in the arms she’s gave…
C’est qui la fille que je connais
Alice c’est qui, cette belle qui me voyait,
elle reste assisse sur son coté
au bord d’une rêve Alice souriait,
elle me retrouve à chaque fois sans me chercher
courir devant un train de fées,
Alice t’es où parmi des infinites pensées
t’es qui toi Alice, plus qu’une chère aimée?
Cine este Alice, oare o cunosc
cu aripile întinse între răsărit și apus,
și unde ești tu Alice oare am să știu
într-o seară fără de păcat vorbele ce scrii,
unde ești și unde am plecat
peregrini pe căile ce le-am uitat,
vino dragă Alice să pictăm cocori
printre inimi preschimbate-n nori….
Little baby love, how do you live,
will you one day tell me stories of the things you did?
Books to put back on the shelf,
our time is written in the words we spell…
Will you ever do forget,
or will you feel regret of the day I made you bleed
and all the awful things I dream,
the music and the Virgin by the wall,
there must be a time where I have lost it all….
Little wonder love, are you really gone?
The castle that I’ve built looks empty now,
it wears your name on each of things I’ve left behind
and when I took the shot, you were holding tight my heart –
Do you every once in a while expect,
that a feeling in the ashes never ceased to burn,
that a God, if still exists, may draw a path,
to find young portraits that will hold the paint,
and never cross that time alone?
I’ve run once more
leaving everything I’ve known behind
friends and lovers of all kind,
I packed my life in the back of my car
no time for tears
too little time to look behind,
and I’ve run
highways under the sun…
It is a red turtle story
told on an island of my own,
I must’ve been cursed
for I can’t seem to find my place
to grow an oak tree and gaze at the stars,
I may but follow a call
that flies me through time…
It’s the great runaway
from youth to the Day
it is the time to sail,
and so help me God
as my heart loves life
to put my steps into the light,
to build from soil and will
a home for my dreams…
Un Jurnal Neverosimil 