night magic

The night was clear, the air was light
and as i raised my arms i felt it lift me up
towards the moon, towards the stars
i found my path though it was dark
towards the light

architecture of the future

summon the force
that keeps your spine straight
summon the love
that feeds your steps
summon the hand
of a friend
stand tall on chalk
feel the fire than runs
through the veins
and run towards
the future with all
that you have
in common
then build it
as you have dreamt

the future is bright
with arches so tall
as you have planned
its foundation
with all that you have done
before

with a bit of luck
the phoenix of hope
and redemption
will add a tower
and a flag

what can i do

what can i do
to keep you near and dear
as i am swallowed by the past?
perhaps to shout
and hope that you will hear my voice
above the white noise of the space around?
an echo, here and there
to slice the night.
perhaps to send an image
on a butterfly
with a quick flutter of a wing?
a mix of colors
to awake the art.
perhaps to try and draw out
in a bucket from the well
the twirling memory of
thirst for water from the past.
will it bring back
the soreness of our muscles
when we rowed, the swollen legs
when we run up and down the mountains
or in the burning sand,
the flashing lights of summer nights?
the list i made is long, the time is short
and sometimes i would like to turn
those lists into the sounds of echoes
(and shout them out and loud)
so that they come back

bound

i am bound to chains
made of all sorts of constraints
bound to paths
built for fast dreams
bound to explode
because there is so much light
in your eyes
that it cannot be contained

bird on a perch

look at me tenderly
because i am but a bird
in the palm of your hand
you could squish me
if you just tighten your fist
and my heart is beating
just a tad faster than you think;
and yet i look at you
lovingly and i think
that you are like the wind
stable under my wing,
that i enjoy the perspective
i can see from this perch
the light i can see in your eyes
from where i decided to sit ;
i am satisfied with the taste
and the texture of the grains of thought
you occasionally feed.
i am not saying it loud
but you may know
that birds are quick to  take flight
and some of us even swim
alone, brave and remote
facing hunger and cold.
which is why we should
both enjoy this fragile moment
at the right balance between
the past and the future
this bridge that we build
you with the hope i shall sing,
me with the hope you can sit
still and stable and able
to hear the trill.
thank you for giving me
hope and time to heal,
now if you would let go
i will be back tomorrow
if you will still know me
and i shall search within
to find the right song
you have been wishing for.

night line

it was the height of the night
and i was fleeing trying to find
my way home at that time
when the old man appeared
with a group of followers around

"where are the elevators baby" he asked
and i noticed he was tall, black and white
and his voice sounded terribly kind
so in my turn i asked to hear it again
"where are the elevators baby" he said

and i heard the smile in his voice
the silence in the fluttering skirts
and shirts of the people around
i gave them the answer pointing
to the locked glass doors

the joyful group trickled in
and dissapeard through the doors into light,
with a glimpse i saw after they left
the smile in the painting resembled
the tall man, black and white

the gift

he brought his gift out in his hand
curling his fingers onto the strings
tickling them gently to make the sound
that went round and round
the room until they found
the darkest chamber of the listening heart

and there it planted the blossoming seed
of pure light, the river of light
that flooded the veins
shooting the skies
branching with colors
the beautiful rainbow of sound

morning hope

hope is
when you await light
as if darkness never had any chance
of crushing you
hope is
when you wash your face
of all terror and blink
to bring out the hero
hope is
when you step out the gate
on a very small road
to walk farther than ever before
hope is
when you open the door
and warm up the light
which travels between you and your neighbor

resonance

as you walk your path
into a forest that's dark
craddle me in your thoughts
sing to me as if i was there
and maybe somehow a string
will resonate somewhere
close enough to induce
waves of joy all the way
into my thoughts
as if you were here.
can you hear
the echoes of my heart
my dear?
see the path?

mother

mother - though it may not be apparent
she is in fact the perfect image
of a soldier of love
she wakes up every day
ready for punches
she takes them,
then back she bounces.
there are but two rules
in this long time endeavor:
there is not protection
and no misdirection
you just take the blow,
you stand up for as long as you can
you occasionally fall
and most important of all
you bounce back up
if you are able at all.
don't bother to tell her
what she already knows
she will shake her head
with a smile
to minimize the importance
the vastness of this ocean
of time, energy, battles
of love.

ripples of change

My friend - know
that you have the power
to change yourself!
And even more
you can change those
whom you touch
with your presence.
When this happens
You won't even know
so watch what you do
because your gesture
can plant a seed
of love or revenge
depending on what you think
and the soil where it is received.
I for one thank you
for putting the spring in my step
the pen in my hand
for if it was not for you
being here in the moment
there would have been
no point for all the ripples
and wrinkles in time and in space
at least not as far
as i am concerned.

carpe

the fruit that you want
you need to reach your hand out
for it and grab
or even better you need to
take a shovel and and a seed
dig and plant
and care for its fruit
to bear

for what you want
if don't do
most probably
won't come about

if you don't do it
it does not happen
my child

environmental math

i fear my friends
we have an ill posed problem to solve
and while we cannot really measure it well
there is not anymore enough love in the world.
just think in terms of it being like water
there is only so much to go around
and we are growing in numbers
we will just have to purify and to share

energy drain

please take it away
take the peaks of the noise
the edge of the blows
extinguish for a while
the fire at the tips
of these fingers

let some of the energy drain
on the dance floor,
on the pavement
on the ocean wave
take some away
for those in need
we'll give the sweat
of our palms
the song in our voice
and mostly for those
we truly love
a patch from
the tapestry of a dream

we welcomed it within
and we gladly let out
this breath that keeps us alive
we move from inside
to the edge of the universe
vibrating right back
the stories of the night
shall commence
their aerial dance

sedona

the sun set the stones on fire
they baked in front of his fury for ages
they patiently bended his anger
till the calmer days came;
the wind blew hard his lungs out
strong as the need for change in spring
unwillingly he peeled the fragile layer
of plants when he did so;
but they waited unclothed for warmer days;
the rain washed the composting remnants
in her attempt to forget the thirst of the summer,
and left them looking like new

and now they just lie, with their rounded backs
their bones strong, and somehow still ready to crumble
the unnecessary bits if one of the Gods demand sacrifice
pure, and red, and barren for most
awaiting whatever elements come their way
with the forehead up high, facing the sun
the rocks of Sedona

resilient like the prayer of an old man
fresh like the hope of a child
beautiful like adolescents
ageless they seem
the red rocks of Sedona

The soul of the village
 Lucian Blaga

Girl, put your hands on my knees
I think eternity was born in the village
Here all thoughts are slower
And your heart pumps more seldom
As if it were not beating within your chest,
But deep down underground.
Here can be healed the thirst for redemption
And if your feet are bleeding
Just sit on humid ground.
Now that the evening comes
The soul of the village flies nearby
Like the aroma of freshly cut grass
Like smoke rising from the straw roofs
Like a dance of young animals on high tombs.

translated from Romanian by Alexandra Badea

magic morning

magic morning on Erwin
when the icy sheet sublimates
to let the giant's breaths rise
towards the morning sun
through the pores in the ground
from the place where he sleeps

the morning started with
funnels of dancing mist
gently twirling in the sun
to the happy music brought about
when springs bursts through
the gates of winter with her laugh

lift your eyes
from the ground to the sky
switch palettes from brown to blue
and then again, from yellow to green
when the cover of his bed he changes
the giant called Erwin

Two of Ana's wishes:

1. ride dragons
2. go in outer space, where there is 0 gravity.

the moon's negligence

the moon lies down her bedsheets
on my lawn sometimes;
i know because it the morning
i can gather the stars
that dropped of her hair
as she combed it at sunrise;
i gather the stars - always a little too late;
being afraid to wake up crickets and birds,
and the stars that remain are invariably
turned into dew drops jewels or margarets.
switch off the lights and welcome the moon
to lay down her silky white sheets
in your gardens sometimes
and please do let her rest.

the storyteller

he came riding into town on a horse
turned white by the dust or perhaps
by the mere purity of his heart.
he wanted to share stories of his land
and people would listen and chat
and learn to speak the same words
from town to town; while all he got
was a few words for thanks and a couple
of coins, enough to last
so he can ride out to the next town.

the seeds of the stories he planted
they grew into vines, with flowers and fruits
that now connect all these towns
and the chidlren who tell of his stories
are somehow happily tied
with invisible chains of friendship
linking their hearts
into a similar dance, which they can
all dance in a world
where distance only matters at times.