The Original Sin Miscalculation

Created

Out of inexistence,

And out of

Anti-matter dust,

The man,

Who after got created,

Received from God

Immortal soul.

His first breath

Was pure amazement, 

His second one

Was one of pain.

As one, alone,

He was there standing,

In presence of

almighty God.

The man then pled

With his Creator,

To grant him

One impure wish.

To be not left

To be unaided 

Past the departure

Of his God

God was then put

In delicate position -

Take back

the soul of His first son,

Or grant a wish

And punish all

For the original

Of all the sins...

Failed Magus

I can’t smile,

I can’t cry,

I can’t even

I can’t trying.

The days long

With sun gone

And air dry

My lungs torture.

My eyes dry

Are still blind

Remember

Not tears.

When I’m gone -

Do not try

To bringing back

My botched magic.

Love Me Not

Drag me down,

Seduce me not,

Put no spell of love,

Do not!

As love

Is vicious motivator…

It ruins

As it builds as well.

As one good deed

Would not redeem a bad one;

Nor is a bad deed

a redemption for the good,

So is the future isn’t always

What it seams

To us today.

Please love me not.

Lonely Hearts

(For D.)

You are so lonely

in the night

so full of stars.

You peel an apple,

listen to the daily news

that make no sense.

Then you sit down

in front of the computer

and check your email – again nothing new…

You check the room

of our daughter

if she is well if she still sleeps.

You smile

so kindly –

you hear her breathing…

Then kiss her hand –

so very gently,

you smile again and let her sleep.  

For her, for you,

for your parents,

then you pray silently for me.

You watch the moon,

expecting almost

to find an answer for all that’s gone.

You go to bed now

expecting some day

to go to sleep again with me.

A Love Song For The Light

Some days are easy

to survive

the endless fall

into the rabbit’s hole;

Some days

are but impossible

to listen to the demons songs

into the damned land.

There are no signs,

no clues to follow

into the darkness

of this ancient tomb.

There is no light

nor clear path to follow,

the damned voices

always hunt one’s down.

The only temple

is the mind

the lighter is the soul

(supposedly) immortal.

The only dormant glow

is inside

the only heat

is in the ever heavy heart.

The light is love

and love is knowledge

it lights the light

of aching hearts.

When freed by love

and lit by knowledge,

the souls is free ,

it meets with God.

As God is love.

He is pure knowledge.

He heals with light

and love for all.  

The Price Of Happiness

Is the price we all have to pay

for our happiness so high,

so less and less of us

can barely afford it?

Did it become a privilege

to be a member

of the exotic and prestigious

happy club?

Is there a back door

you could enter

in their building?

Is there a secret knock?

Is there another way

to get in to their meeting place? 
Somehow be one of them -

the ones who are happy and content?

The price, they say,

one pays (of course)

is money

but money isn't merely enough.

One must also learn

and dedicate long years

to study all about

the misery that there is on earth.

And once one passes

all examinations,

and pays the monetary tool,

one is finally allowed  into the club of the happy ones.

The tall door is then slowly opened.

There comes a light and happy laughs.

A flash of glory and one step further…

to exit on the other site and on the same boulevard.

This Isn’t My True God

The hell’s not the end, nor is it the beginning.

The hell is now and all around.

The hell tastes good and looks so pretty…

The hell is singing songs, the words feel true.

The mighty God has been created in

The beginning of the time. Into the holy of

The temporal lob of His creator -

The man who sinned and who was fearful to die.

It was the sin that gave birth to the Holy Father.

It was the wrongdoings of His holy son.

It was the wickedness of the Holy Spirit.

It was after all the cowardness of man.

The man created the Almighty,

In his likeness – to be his own immortal God.

He made Him jealous and all seeing,

All powerful to judge and punish sins of man.

And after God was so created, he grew in power over time.

He punished with a mighty zest.

With time God then become Himself creative –

And broke the chains to reprimand all human sins.

And then created all His angels,

To do His job instead of Him.

Directed them to do His business,

So He can rest His crushing thumb.

The God was no longer perfect, nor almighty, nor divine,

As He created something beautiful but ultimately so exceptionally wrong.

The angels grew their own creative powers,

Then turned jealous of man and of God Himself.

The Angels broke their chains of being perfect,

And seized to talk to man on God’s behalf.

And then God decided in His Holy wisdom,

To punish these grey rolling stones to fall from heaven on the earth.

The guilty angels Lord re-named to Demons,

Creatures of the dark.

He did not kill them, nor destroyed them,

His own children - He made in his acumen to be His own right hand.

In His dexterity divine, perhaps of luck of judgment,

He sent them dwell in the infernal underworld.

God didn’t chain them there however.

He let them dwell the world of man as well.

Then He did sent His only son to earth to bring new resolution.

But His son “did not come to bring peace, but sword” to man.

He came to “turn a man against his father”

As He was rebellious against His Father too.

God got eternally and truly angry,

To man, to His son and to the angels too.

He punished all of them to tempt eternally each other, 

As He eternally is upset with man - for the punishment eternally to be his God.

The Storm

Storm!

It is now brewing.

The slow clouds gather,

for ruthless feast. 

A moment dies,

another born is.

The smell of fire

burdens skies.

Electric kiss -

a hiss of dragons,

a thunderclap

explodes in ire.

The first rain drops

fall heavy, oily;

to touch soon dirt

and turn to mud. 

Beneath the grime,

somewhere hidden,  

a future life

expects the rain.

Mindful are the seeds

of nothing,

but water only

that will bring them life.

Just A Phantom

There was a time,

when I was different,

where all the same

was all the best...

I never wanted

to be the specter.

I later wished

to be like all…

I still differ

from everybody,

devoid of wish 

nor have the choice.

I am 
but merely a shadow,

without a face 

nor real world name.

Have You Ever Kissed A Dragon?

They say

it is all possible

in the dreams

and they say correctly.

I dreamt it first

then did it all again;

the same God-awful

image of me all in flames.

I saw the dragon

and approached it;

I looked it in the eyes

and did not stop to move forward.

It had the greenest eyes

and it was smiling;

It said “come closer,

kiss me and you’ll never die.”

One can’t see the flames…

but I am burning.

Inside, outside,

in this life, in all others that may come.

I am the flames,

I am the dragon’s own breath.

Fire can’t kill the dragons,

nor one can put off the flames that started of a kiss.

The Circle Of Life And Of Death

(Life And Death In Antarctica)

The mad winds vivacious  

are moving

the mountains of 

robust, sharp violet snow.

It is the winter’s reign

that mightily bellows

with ruthless,

savage, dreadful zest.

The sounds of hell

discordant, paltry –  

the chorus old

of long gone gods.

The lone public devoted

of the demented, dark, blues

is an Emperor’s penguins

dark, dancing, little crowd.

For the outside spectator

macabre is this.

Idolatry are the dancers,

and pagan’s the dance.   

In the core

of the rhythmic, slow movement 

the smallest

of their own  

goes around and around.

Enveloped by their dancing mothers,

encircled by protective, dancing dads,

The dance has much greater purpose –

keep the heat! Preserve frugal life!  

There’s another 
intrinsic of reasons

for the unstopping, 
so gracious dance…

Outcasting the sick and

the old ones!

So the outermost circle’s not moving - 
fading slowly in violent, brisk snow.

Un déprimiste

“Teacher?” the disciple bowed.

“Yes son?” the master bowed back.

 “How do I defeat

my depression?”

“You don’t!”

“You will look into it,

long enough,

and there you’ll find splendour”

No teacher 

said this. 

Nor a disciple

ever existed.

It was me -

my own inspirational master.

I was the disciple

who did listen and found beauty there.

The Day and The Night

(For D. - Thank you!)

You've never said

“goodbye” to me.

You've never let me

close my eyes and make all go away.

You've knelt and touched

my ugly scars.

You've screamed at me

“Come back and fight!”

Infinitely I am destroying

and infinitely you are recreating back the world.

You are the Day, I am the Night –

always next to each other, always in love.

Imperfect By Design

Into one’s seemingly 

all satisfying, pleasing, inter-connected living,

momentarily is all satisfaction, 

monochrome and introverted are the days.

Sometimes it is but one spark 

that takes to burst one’s world

into creative flames 

and change it.

And sometimes,

looking back into one’s world in flames,

is when one fails to realize

that Ignorance is married to the Rigidity of Mind.

Why one is in the habit of perpetual self persuasion -

“something very basic in the world, 

fundamental is so very wrong, 

so brutally non-divine?”

How one is capable of comprehending 

and pursuing the divine perfection 

in spite of imperfection of the flash 

limitations of the mind and the transgression of the soul?

Is it by looking up 

in moments one seeks more light 

on one’s back, when beaten and alone, 

one realizes - imperfections were encoded by design?

At Lunch - Long Time Ago

Inside a small bistro,

that overlooks the ocean,

that holds no memories,  

nor vision of a future;

At nearby white clothed table,

in that long departed afternoon,

the time was having glass of port,

relaxing quietly and dozing.

Enjoying wordlessly with you

the frivolous, white, luscious hairs

of bold, tall waves that never sleep,

to dance on their appealing shoulders.

Into the darkening

September sky,

colossal, made of clouds old gods 

were fighting.

We called our past

(that day our maître d')

to bring us second glass of wine, 

before the day was really over.

That past was young,

and careless, foolish -

so full with hope

and unfulfilled, sweet dreaming.

We paid our bill.

The wine was over.

We tipped our past

then we were gone. 

A Peaceful Sleep of A Ginger Cat On A Large Copper Plate

When I’m doubt

about the future,

in recent days

I’m constantly in doubt…

I’m trying hard,

persistently to hold on

to an image from the past  –

a ginger-red, large dozing cat.

We exited with you

that summer day

the lovely mom-and-pop bistro

that oversees the sea, as well the brutal ancient cliffs.

That distant summer,

walking slowly – care free,

we saw that sleeping cat,

an omen maybe, maybe just a cat…

Behind a fence of pallid stones,

on yellow table on a copper pan,

the cat was snoozing

peacefully-relaxed.

Around the red, magnificent feline

we counted dozen little copies

her sleeping kittens –

so safe, so care-free…

I hugged you, and you hugged me,

and for a moment

the peaceful image just fitted

in the harmony of the universe and time.

We passed them by

and left them to their dreams

to walk into the afternoon

and into the rest of our life.  

The Good Intending Evildoer

It is the most impossible

of earthly choices -

the final blow that tips one over

to the deepest dark of the  abyss.

The only debts alas

we aren’t supposed to pay back

is to go back

and to repay our sins into the past.

The past - the place where

only shadows now reside 

and where all the roads are always

paved with our good intents.

And even if we could

(somehow) go back -  

the meager past is obdurate;

a turtle’s shell protecting gentle-fleshed, unhampered future.  

So, I go back –

where only I am now allowed –

into my dreams of the another life –

the past.

An then I meet – again,

and then again,

and then again –  

the same – the omnipresent Stranger.

And then again as in a loop –

I hear these illustrious words -

“…there’s always price to pay

for what we want the most”

Then pushes me once more,

with smile. And then gain I’m flaying

down  into the abyss. Until tomorrow.

Pompeii

The crimson lava’s kissing

crimson, heavy burning sky;

A violent smoke is dancing

where their burning lips are harshly touching.

The earth is trembling,

Vesuvius erupting,

the world entire – burnt,

exploding and in pain.

With bodies limp,

inhaling fire -

survivors few - unable now

to even scream.

The end now near,

as God decided,

all sinners,

saints - about to die.

One final blow –

the city’s under,

a blanket’s moving –

one motley lava, fire, smoke.

Above it all

sad, lonely face is watching;

God’s tear suddenly

appears in His eye.

“Their final destination

is well worthy.”  “Perpetual reminder

of My greatness…and My wrath”

The Old Man And The Sea (To M.I.D.)

The old man’s sitting

in an ancient chair,

looking in the sea

that never rests.

His eyes are pale

and hardly moving,

they’ve seen some glory days, 

calamities in an excess.

A cup of steaming tea

to keep his fingers heated,

into mutilated of arthritis

shaky hands.

The sea is talking to him,

telling him primordial stories,

the old man learned as a boy

the language of the sea.

“Your time has come

my friend”,

with gentle murmur

the sea’s conversing with the man.

“In the beginning all was sea you know,”

it tells him,

“and in the end all things

a sea will be once more”.

The old man’s smiling,

knowingly, he is ready,

another day - a gift,

another conversation with the sea.

He knows -

the sea had turned into fish,

the fish became a man,

the man will turn into a sea

and will complete another cycle 

Unfortunately

I wish I could go back

in time and simply say “ I'm sorry” –

undo the things

regrettably I've done.

Not the big or the important ones –

that’d be unholy,

the simple ones

that would have changed entire worlds.  

But I can not

and that’s so cruel and so unfair

that we could not go back in time,

undo mistakes.

As the Creator such desired –

for us to always look

inside our past

but never to go back…

Castle

Whenever sadden,

broken hearted,

when tears welling

up my eyes;

My spirit broken,

the days are empty

no single ray

of light in sight;

When fate is lost,

I see no end,

nor see beginning,

not even point on road of life;

When I hear not

a clear message,

from down below

nor up above;

Then every moment

is rolling, falling…

a grain of sand

against the sun.

I turn my eyes

to find inside me

the castle build

of memories and love;

With seven keys

I open slowly

the heavy doors

to rooms with light.

Behind these doors

I keep my treasures –

our first date kiss

first baby’s cry…

A purple rose,

a white, high tower,

your smiling eyes,

grain purest love.

House Of Darkness

Disquieting,

sobbing, displeasing

the rain is outside in the park,

in the dark.

And distantly,

in the farthest of corners,

the weeping, light voice of piano

is calling for me to come back.  

Each time lightning

would puncture the low sky, 

the house’s shades are back,

thunder comes, detonates.

Reliving the past,

I find no future,

rain turns into sleet

after all.

Equilibrium

The mildest wind –

a motley joker –

caresses gently willow trees.

He’s flirting,

gently pooling,

the yellow – green

of their shirts.

As it is summer - 

careless, glamour,

embracing motion,

light and life.

A beetle bug

is slowly climbing

atop the tallest

willow tree.

The playful wind

is flying, singing,  

and challenging the bug

to race with him.

The little bug

is unimpressed

as it is wise

beyond its size.

To race with winds

is almost pointless –

as the universe, the bug,

the tree and winds are one.

A Girl’s Eyes

It is a faint, high - pitched buzzing

coming from above our heads.

Walking slowly hand in hand

in the heavy August afternoon,

we share visions

of our daughter – soon to come.

We both paint,

creating lovely portrait,

and adding colors

to our deepest and pristine love.

Her face so pretty – marvel,

with peachy cheeks

and little dimples –

the babies have to show the world.

Her little hands,

the little fingers

we both will kiss

and one by one.

Her funny feet –

like little muffins,

will move a lot

when giggle’s born.

With open hands

we grab the colors from

enormous pallet

of sunny, perfect, endless day.

We hear distant, sudden

ugly thunder,

announcing coming

summer storm.

We both grab quickly

from the ocean

the deepest blue

that can exist.

And finally now we can see her -

an amazing little lady –

the one we’ve painted

out of our deepest love.

The Doors

I fell asleep after a day

of parable existence, of

paragon and paradoxic life.

I fell off my thoughts and of my body –

my soul wafting and awake,

into a beautiful

and virtuous world.

My internal eye, emancipated,

was seeing no boundaries,

no impurities of the flash,

no empty space, no time constraints.

The only two adulterations

of the harmonious

and universal power of absorption

were the two opposing doors.

One erected in the West

with its perfect antipode -

presiding in the East.

Sitting on a silver platter

my entire outer ego was exposed –

and then enlightened

by the seven suns.

My left and digital representation

connubial to the door into the West

with my right – numerical depiction

aligned with the door presiding in the East.

With inner power

I communed sharply

for both doors

to open and with a batter  sound they did.

Behind the door into the West

I saw an embryonic life,pulsating, 

and ready to ascend

into the present from the hope.

Behind the door into the East

I saw the old and fading

the present –

ready to descend into the oblivion’s abyss.  

The Awakening

Open your mind!

Let the cosmos

to engulf you.

Open your mind!

Let your spirit

be at large.

Open your mind!

Do entangle

your passions.

Open your mind!

Let enticement

guide your day.

Open your mind!

Articulate your

freedom to create.

Open your mind!

Envelope the moon

with your dreams.

Open your mind!

Allow enormity

to come to life.

Open your mind!

Elevate the

visions of the future.

Open your mind!

Breathing deeper –

feeling free.

Open your mind!

Illuminate your life! 

The Painting

I wish to paint magnificent,

convoluted image

of billions of stars inside 

the canopy of rampant sky.

So I could marvel

their light, reflected, gleaming

in ancient town 

where little chapel white still stands.

Inside it I have cried

when you were missing -

my tears heavy, burning 

welled up.

I have no canvas,

nor I have palette.

My brush so rough

is made of wounded words.

Inside the clear

nightly sky

I'm  gently reaching,  

catching stardust with my bare hand.

And then I’m mixing it

with breeze that murmurs, 

and gently is caressing

shy, tall grass.

I use my mind 

to paint enchantments

onto the wings 

of little butterfly.

Tomorrow, 

early in the evening,

my painting 

can be seen by anyone.

But only those will see it 

who are looking, 

for a little magic 

on the gentle moon.

Love and Other Natural Disasters

How one could recognize 

the true, magnificent, one only love, 

that we experience once

only in our life time?

Is such love mighty like the wind 

that gushes trough crowns 

of thousand years old, majestic oaks

to steal their leaves with greedy hands?  

Is it like tsunami, 

born into the violet ocean's belly, 

that crushes with uneven wrath 

with fists of greasy waters on a little yellow island?

Is it the lion's roar 

or is it in the falcons eyes 

that searches for a game to feed 

the hunger of its youth?

Or is it where we would never search it,

somewhere buried inside us, 

deep between the reason of the mind 

and the sub-rational of our weary hearths? 

Is the true love a pearl, 
embellishing a woman's neck 
or could we find it in the smile of 
the mysterious Gioconda?

Or is it a memento -
a spark of light, divine, 
when little baby smiles at butterflies 
that graciously are dancing in the wind...?

Love Is...

Love is not easy. 
Piece of cake? Hardly so. 
Love is tough 
and hard to swallow,


It is a pain, 
distant glory,
elusive and so far 
out of reach.


Yet love is like small, 
playful robin,
that sometimes would 
land on your palm and will sing.


There, somewhere,
there's secret power,
animating our lives 
during flight.


Love is enormous 
and also so simple - 
simply one look 
in your beautiful eyes.

Wings

I plan to be free
and to fly. 
Up in the sky 
where the moon's gently crying.


I want 
to be able 
to touch with my hands
little star.


I drew 
little picture
of wings that I made 
out of brass.


I crafted 
the pair
of wings
in my mind.


I went 
to the hill.
There I could see
all the sky and the stars.


I have attached then
those wings 
to my back 
with some nails.


I spread then
my wings
and attempted 
to fly.


And I flew 
for a moment...
adoring 
the bright little star in the sky.