• Poetry

    An oasis after the desert

    I planted the seeds in your ribs, that will fill the holes in your lungs. But you have to remember one thing: You have to water them yourself, if you want to survive. You have to open your chest, tear it and water your seeds. Because no one is capable to make you what you are, except for nature. Old, colorful and dark at the same time. There’s a labyrinth in you, a forest that evokes a sense of discomfort. All those animals that wander in you, they consider you home and use your beauty and the freedom you give them. But you, you run away from your nature, you…

  • Poetry

    It tears you that she’s first to tear you apart

    If we reap what we sow, if karma is real, if we give back what we give, then the heavy chain around her neck is her making. And silence is her consequence, and the absence is her creation. You just stepped into the mud in which she raised herself from marble. All her dead illusions dance with old delusions. Who did she bring to this world when she immigrated from her soul? A former version of her along with the present one, is carried over the edge of the world in the cages. You were in one of them, but it tears you that she’s first to tear you apart.…

  • Poetry

    The juiciest for the end

    Doesn’t everyone love to hear juicy news? Well, I have finally something to share. It actually involves you, among all the other benefits to be infinite. And no doubt you will feel proudly when you find out. Congratulations are in order. I mean, you did it, though. You targeted precisely with your bow and arrow, made from carefully chosen material to create pride. I wonder what you’ve been using. Doubts? A cocktail of ego and intelligence? Maybe a little bit of awe towards nothing except for the time you knew that it will step over your attempts to capture it in your palms. Triviality is now ahead of me. Let’s…

  • Poetry

    A disguised farce of lies

    I was born with reversed skin, like a stolen whisper from another dimension. My skin wasn’t tangible to others, it wasn’t visible. And I can’t lie; I was a snack to a truth that mercilessly bite my neck. / I hear a crack in my vein / The truth is that I’m a lie that needs another lie to create the original figure of me. And I found it, on a postcard. Two matches that burn together, creating one flame. What another metaphor for love my mind could recognize if not this? / touching thoughts, asking them / But as we hugged, the postcard was burning, and the remains crowded…

  • Poetry

    Boomerang

    I can freely describe myself as a weapon that people often play with, not realizing that they are losing even before the game started. I often refer to the one that others throw, but I keep coming back and stand in front of them or behind. It depends if they show me the right face or they turn their backs on me. Karma is a boomerang; those people are talking. They are like rising dominoes, pushing each other until the last one falls. And the boomerang is thrown and spun, always turning and taking the last steps. However, that’s what people do. They throw away things so effortlessly as if…

  • Poetry

    Human shell with a bloody pearl

    Discover me if you want to taste a lifeless soul. I challenge you, but I don’t care if you will try. Does that make sense? And if not, I don’t care about your opinion. I’m confined to the context in which you want to frame me persistently as if I were only sketches without any significant lines. I’m cruel, I bite and eat, I take away what’s not mine, but I don’t fake anything. At least I don’t know how, although they taught me. You want to be like those who will tame me and show me that famous world in which love saves and changes people for the better……

  • Poetry

    Swallowing pride beneath the dry ground

    It’s tasteless, you say, deleting my search history, about identity destruction, about a dumpling in my throat every time I swallow my pride. But… I said I’ll do whatever it takes to end this war. Physically impossible? Well, love, that’s what they said about the atomic bomb. Can’t you see how I can destroy you with an explosion inside me? But, you’re inside me, can’t you see the irony in the logic? I dream of water as if I were that key into the momentum that draws me into its abyss. But there’s no break here. Not even a quarter of your ego. The eighth is still questionable. The face…

  • Poetry

    You deserve to be loved

    You’re a collection, love. Of the most beautiful masterpieces, from broken bones and scars under the skin, from suffering and reality; From the truth lurking in the depths of your sad smile, you’re the happiness finding its way through struggles and sorrows, through broken hearts and pain, through indifference and worthlessness, like sunlight shining through the clouds. You’re a collection, love. From teary eyes all night long and visible traces of battles on your hands, days spent inside four walls, running away from daylight. You will ask yourself over and over again, what the bloody layers on the skin are for, what exactly are they talking about and what’s their…