Wall Painter

She painted her walls, blue and red

As the fall launched into her flat

His spirit, brought by the evening sun, 

a beam of light, 

scattering through the small windows 

of the backyard house on hazy days

It made her face her solitude.

And finally winter came 

and stepped into the rooms:

The past enteres the present

the present decents into the past. 

The flame runs through her throat, 

again

she tries to laugh it out,

she wants to scream,

she moans and shouts in her mind

"It's not real, it's only a dream" . 

However, all she can do,

is painting a third wall green.

Time travels

Three little sparrows 

came across my way

Church bells ringing 

in the air of dust and speed
as the night falls into day
and the fall whispers to the heat

of the city

Time travels
The sparrows turn into light
when they leave the ground
and start their flight
Life unravels
at the crossing of darkness and bright

I follow the birds
The smoke of a finished cigarette
descents into the asphalt
and I wonder whether I am the past,
or whether the past is me,
At the moment of a new beginning
I let it turn, I let it be

Holding the tide

In the waves of the ocean
There is no one else
but us and the notion
Of the birds and the whistling leaves
That crawl into the room
Where we lay in the sheets
And I drown in the rhyme
That you paint in my mind
Drawing a line, deep and insane, between
beauty and pain

The birds outside these ocean walls
They sing their noisy song
The pressure in my chest, it grows
As I long for your rhyme,
to enter the body of mine
And then it flows into my veins
And tries to break the chains

We hold the tide
It flows
We fly
Until the moment comes
For us to say
Good bye.

on the balcony

there you are, behind the glass

so close, so far

and time's too fast, for us

cause it's timeless what we want to be

and how we want to see 

the grains of our love growing into a mystic tree

sitting on my wooden chair

your legs crossed, a face cold as frost,

the gaze turned to the ground

your body bounded in the kettles

that you chose a long time ago

you cannot move

and that is when you choose the blues

I watch you from my balcony

and smoke your cigarette

the shadow of your silhouette

makes my cheeks so red, my eyes so wet.

I speak from your breath

you turn my words into the blues

and the time is too fast

and we both know

that it is nothing and everything

that we will loose

light as light

in the rush of the city,
the uncertainty, the sorrow, the pain,
there is a haven peculiar and pretty
that shines a light on us
beautiful, insane

the walls, so high, they gather the light
during the day
it radiates through the surfaces,
and when the sun sets down
it warms the night

and the minds flow
when music feeds the souls
and passes streneous thoughts
turning them into red triangles
sparkling and bright
and light as light

Under the Cover of the Snow

Under the cover of the snow

there is a place you don’t know,

yet.

Cause it’s too soon, you say,

too soon.

The crescent moon

rests on the sky,

the snow blanket is heavy and high.

And so I stamp through the trebly snow,

I stamp through the trebly snow.

The sun sets behind the arctic hill.

Snowy trees in colours of rose and blue fill

me.

They embrace my soul,

my blue blue soul.

And soon it’s all blue,

the sky, the ground and the song,

that I found

from my mind,

while you’re pretending to be blind,

pretending to be blind.

The blissy, icy air

tingles my cheeks

and pricks my skin while it speaks

in a language of warmth and pain,

a language of warmth and pain.

Under the cover of your snow,

there is a place that I’d like you to show

to me.

Not only in a dream,

not only in a dream.

So let me dig into that trebly snow,

let me embrace your deepest fears

and dry all your tears

with my blue blue song,

my blue blue song.

Let’s sing together in the light of the sun and the moon,

Our songs of rose and blue.

It is not too soon,

It is not too soon.

Let me find my peace,

my faith

under the cover of your snow,

the cover of your snow.

the trip

On the trip with you
The sharp rain hits us, heavily
Heavenly, we walk side by side
Then we miss the train

"You are like the wind", I say
with a lack full of pain
in my soul
and the little bird dancing and singing 

inside of my body.

We catch another one,
enter the wagon, sit down next to each other, 

wet, exhausted and silently
Your blowing wind is sweet and soft

But it's hard to be there, following the streem, never knowing where it will take us. 

Or will it just lift our heads up to the clouds,

never letting the feet rise up, joining our thoughts in this flight of happiness and joy?

The train stops. It's time to part.
"Let's meet in the dreams,

on the top of the mountain", you say,

"from there we can watch the sun 

rising behind the deep blue sea, covering us in light".