broken twigs

souls unnoticed
unwanted
sitting, crying in the dark
an isolated bitterness
dampens the dreams of their hope
echoes of naked screams
sailing through a frozen winter fog
aching for a speck of warmth
a touch of fleeing tenderness, yet
dying whispers, rippling
within an unborn candle flame
in search for a portal
that hasn’t even been made yet

let the light in

why do you weep?
clouded in a haze of sadness
you always withdraw yourself back into your veils
a dark room, deep inside yourself
there’s no place for light
only a tiny crack in the wooden door
pale light without any warmth left
cold, colorless, drenched with sorrow
the only spark of hope
amidst this black melancholy
that is your world
your black world
so vulnerable
yet so untouchable
many who don’t see it
don’t want to see it
some who do know
very few who enter it
your world
which looks o so black
so vulnerable
yet so untouchable
like a dying leaf
floating on the cold water ripples
of a small mountain creek
alone, isolated, splintered
herald of an ashen winter
spinning round and round
not knowing how to reach the shore
not knowing how to reach the still green moss,
which can bring back that spark of life
which you need so badly
no one who cares for you
that’s how it is sometimes, am I right?
I’d give my life
just to get you out of that room
that o so black room covering
the sheer beauty of your inner being
that wounded place
where tears are no longer
the healing power of your wounds
where your soul screams it out
to be heard
to be understood
to be loved
but where no one seems to reach you
if only you could tear off those veils
covering the dusty window
blocking out every speck of light
keepers of the darkness within you
if only you could end this nightmare
I’d give my life
if this would give you that opportunity
your loneliness is my loneliness
your pain is my pain
your room is my room
your life is my life

divine path

broken mirrors, dust
countless shades, each reflecting
perspectives, blurred truths
labyrinth of Life, o so mysterious
hidden secrets lying beyond your many portals

o marvelous Life
teach us how to glue our mirrors
how to clean the dust
help us reaching the edge of the world
where all experiences fall into an abysmal void
heal us, so we can see our Original Face again
only to realize there never was

any mirror

existence
.
nonexistence
.
.
empti
ne
s
.
s
.
.

mirrored heavens

sailing near the sharp edge
where the world is poured into
mystical tones of harp,
my aching soul finally falls into the gap
where dreams become the abysmal light
attracting us even when it rains

unexplored lands, drifting, floating on
crisp jasmine winds, healing, purifying,
melting frozen fires as sands are drinking roses
greyness repainted by the depth of life
colours I breathe, dampening the road
tears I cry, endless beads on turquoise fibres
threaded by the oaks in the wind

liquid moments

what shines through the foliage?
rustling leaves, moonlit
playing with the waves
waves of a timeless light

a spirit of freshness
fluidly dripping on the surface
reflecting, integrating
turning prismatic into conic

its essence once angular and rough
now circular and floating
fibres of a subtle unity
guiding us along our path

withering blossoms of cherry trees
relive through their simplicity
sliding over the curved slopes
sinking within the pearl grey haze
of its brilliant, empty being

vanishing

as sun’s vibrating rays slowly sink
within the boundless ripples, gracefully sung
by a softly pulsating evening light,
a moonless cold sprays its wings
dissolving my unborn tears for you
drying up the once so pristine mountain lakes,
mirrors of your soul imprinted into mine
dusk splintered, tiger claws unleashed
as thornless drops of roses try to capture
the last echoes of your unfathomable stillness
its secrets stirred
forever

the wooden rose

riven by the sharp splinter
of a destiny entwining her
silken membrane around
my restless heart,
my soul floats on the wild waves
between unfathomable despair and
utter ecstasy

write me
now
with the ink of your
secret weeping for old wounds

write me
now
so the culled wind might leave
the north to seek shelter within
the snow of your spring heart

the trembling of honey and
cold milk pierces me like
woolen crystals,
gestures of a
rumoured nourishment
yes, unseen
through the eyes of the world

I bleed and
breathe apple scents of golden
paths crossing a sea of
ancient friends
as if the candle flame was never really
washed away by the winds of time

as if

the anguish of one grain of wheat
might force whole fields to hatch and

grow

any time now

awakening smile

amidst the mauled lands of my fallen mind
rosemary petals crumbling, shattered hopes,
you came, spraying your astral smile
radiating spores of amber buttercups, like
lacy grains, moonlit specks of inner warmth
drifting within the foggy cracks of my sorrow
your smile, like a healing lyre
softly wrapping round the dried up brooks
sappy tones, whimsical veins of life,
craving the old dusts to bloom

redemption

vultures, unseen by many
melting their shadows with ours
as we keep walking the same direction as before,
driven by the vision of technological perfection
which lies within our reach

but does that make us more human?
does that make us more at peace
with ourselves and the world?

God has died
Man became God
Man will die too, if
the ignorance of an entire race
regarding its own innate darkness
will survive the outer meltdown

we seek peace
we seek harmony
we seek happiness
but what seems one inside will inevitably be split outside

authentic peace embraces the awareness of
an inner paradox which bridges the outer abyss
between good and evil
cold and warm
male and female
light and dark

authentic harmony is a lone wanderer
descending deep into the mud of the Earth
through the darkest pit where
the doorway to Heaven can truly be found
because a blossom will only be allowed to bloom
when the tree is rooted deep into
the dark Unknown

authentic happiness is saying “yes” to
the inner paradox of oneself
so the deep flaws of others can be greeted
with a smile of genuine compassion
instead of the apathic gaze of contempt

fields of flowers will then be allowed again
to express their inner sacredness
to grace their subtle imperfections with
a dance between the stubbornly dark and
the playfully light shades hidden
between the folds of their own unfolding

each flower will then again be
looked upon as a unique being
by the appreciation of their natural flaws
instead of statistically trivialized
by their common dreams of artificial perfection

perhaps

perhaps then we can finally become
what we’ve always been
but seemed to have forgotten in our outer strivings:
sacred vessels through which
the Mystery we call Life can individually be painted
and poured into the world at large
so God can finally grow
towards Its authentic expression
through each and one of us

vultures, unseen by many
melting their shadows with ours
as we keep walking the same
direction as before