It seems nothing can provoke
Our inner silence
No sound no word nothing
The eyes bring out the eyes!
Nothing else but this unites us
A leaf touching another leaf
So close and so docile
The hands bring out the hands!
In our age love is an opposition
Let us unite to cast two single shadows. . .
I heard it so clearly last night
it woke me
I turned to the side you sleep on
to touch your face
to stare into your deep dark eyes
but you weren’t there
only the darkness
and your echo
in my ears
I long for my voice that found you
My voice fills the valley with your name
Giving one more dimension
To my heart all wet
On desolate mountaintops
It bounces of right and left
just without you
From tree to tree
I long for my voice that found you
Cordoba.
Distant and alone.
Black pony, full moon,
and olives inside my saddlebag.
Though I know the roads well,
I will never arrive at Cordoba.
Over the low plains, over the winds,
black pony, red moon.
Death is looking down at me
from the towers of Cordoba.
What a long road this is!
What a brave horse I have!
Death is looking for me
before I get to Cordoba!
Cordoba.
Distant and alone.
“When your opponent is holding all the aces,
there’s just one thing to do:
kick over the table.”
I know not whether you have been absent:
I lie down with you, I rise up with you,
In my dreams you are with me.
If my teardrops tremble in my ears,
I know it is you moving within my heart.
translated by D,G. Britton & John Bierhorst
separation swings through the air like a steel bar
it keeps smacking me in the face
I’m staggering
I run away it chases me
there’s no escaping it
my knees fail I’m falling
separation isn’t time or distance
it’s the bridge between us
finer than silk thread sharper than a sword
finer than silk thread sharper than a sword
separation is the bridge between us
even when we sit knee to knee
Was I going to have thoughts also?
Was I going to be an insomniac like this?
Was I going to be quiet like this?
To stop caring for the tossed salad I loved so much?
Was I going to turn into this?
I don’t look like much today;
When I pay my debts,
Possibly I’ll own a bunch of new suits;
Possibly you still won’t love me.
But, on Sunday evenings,
When I go by your neighborhood,
Dressed to kill,
Do you think I’ll cherish you
As much as I do today?
Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant with the weak and wrong. Sometime in your life, you will be all of these.
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
She comes out of the rain in a silk dress
Leonard Durso 