sábado, 31 de marzo de 2012

Healing time

It is the awkward tic tac
of the snoring clock,
that marks the nights
you've been alone.

It is the patronizing
tic tac of the clock
that forces your life
in a rude mode.

It's the tic tac song
that wakes you up
and curls up your dreams
the same lulaby
that cures broken hearts

Its now not the same clock
or not the same tic tac 
of an awkward clock,
but a healing sound
that always walks forward,
without looking back.

Picture: unknown

miércoles, 14 de marzo de 2012

I wonder

 What would you do
if I tell them,
to all of them,
if I tell them,
all those sacred secrets
you want to remain
far out of the way
of those amateurish frogs?

what would you do then
If I send
If I sell
your reputation
and let it flow
and go and fall
in procastinated tongues?
To hear every-silent-word
now croaned and croaked
in the highest voice
telling the truth about you
your mischievous mind
and your stone heart?

How would you feel then
if you wake up
and you find out
that every-lie-carefully-built
is now gone
and destroyed
into pieces
of rough materials,
shelled by
the best missile?

How it would be
to see you paying
as much as I paid
for all OUR mistakes
as much as you deserve
my sweetest revenge?

Painting: The Triumph of Justice by Hans Von Aachen

miércoles, 7 de marzo de 2012

Twisted Scream

Sick and tired of love
and hate and sex
and love and hate and sex.
And all the things around
and all the things which round
and round and round
around everything which means
nothing meaningful to oneself
when one is lost
and lost looking for a muse
that sleeps and dreams
about the perfect love
that loves sex and hate
when hate and love and sex
and love and sex and hate
become then no opposites
but different ways
to the same dreary place.

Picture: Scream by Vakhtang Kakulia

domingo, 4 de marzo de 2012

An advice for pre-lesbian chicks

I don't know what was
whether her perfume's touch
or her long hair's smell
the spell I was trapped by --

titanical ocean waves
of pleasure disguised
in a new way
that claims
to be secret
to remain
in the most unusual place.

Hidden by the sheets
I woke up
of the sweetest dream
I ever had.
We brushed our hair,
make-up our face
and went out
back to world
as simple friends.

No kisses aloud ,
Neither hugs nor
hanging around
hand on hand.
Satisfy yourself
with invisible glances

But don't think
that she is going
to call you back,
to worry about you,
to care about your life,
your health, your mind.

There is no place
for comprehension my dears;
we are as bad
as they are.

Picture: El columpio-Raymond Monvoisin