It’s all about the fortress that we build

To hide ourselves in dark rooms made of stone;

With many words the emptiness is filled

And yellowed books make us feel less alone.


It’s all about how well we get to lie

That words are used to make us understand,

But spoken words are simply said, then fly

And written words are letters on the sand.


It’s all about just talking to ourselves

When midnight turns another day in past;

The wall clock stops its beat after the twelfth,

Then liquid words in shapes of thoughts are cast.


It’s all about the silence that we feel

Not when we are alone, but when we’re not.

It seems that among us there is a seal –

No matter what we do, it remains shut.





A mercenary in a foreign land,

Driven by gold, by power and by lust –

Writing his testimonies on sand,

Drawing his victories on dust.


Having no soul, no thought and no regret,

No memory, no feeling and no past;

Paying attention to no threat,

Being frightened of no blast.


In the mad wind his purple flags unfold,

Scraping the bleeding sunset, the black cloud.

It’s here and now, die or be bold,

Spit all your anger, shout it loud.


Kill and forget; hold, love and leave;

Never look back, just keep it straight;

 Feel no remorse when you deceive;

Trust only in yourself, and not in fate.


Spending my days with my ideal

And with my rule, my law, and with my verse,

I stray myself from what is real.

I wish I were like him – I’m his reverse.





Send to hell the inner peace

And set free the inner fire,

Let its burning to inspire

You creating without cease.


 Send to hell detachment, serenity, love, tenderness, even beauty.

Indulging in them makes you weak and soft, melts down your sword.

Creation is drama, crisis, tension, violence, it is fundamentally restless, hectic, worried about everything that exists and everything that doesn’t.

Release all the inner turmoil, conflicts, anger, madness. 

Live on the edge, feel the deep tragedy of the wounded world, die and resurrect and die again, and again come back to life.

Generate, degenerate, regenerate (yourself)…


Boring rhetoric words

 That can’t convince anymore;

All has been said before,

Even true feelings seem absurd.


There’s no way of finding new

Ways of expressing ourselves.

Tired books on dusty shelves

Now are void of any clue.


Be aware of this truth.

You can write, but do not claim

Glory, recognition, fame.

You create only for you.





A word once said could never be taken back.

I am hanging on words, they could be everything, the ultimate reality,

but they could also mean nothing.

A spoken word could never be taken back, it flies away into the void.

Don’t fool yourself with the illusion of understanding, there’s no such thing.

Neither you, nor the other could ever keep the word from flying away.

A written word is a greater hoax, you write it down in loneliness,

and for whom do you write it, except for yourself?

Who else will ever have the time to read your lonely words?

Stop hanging on words, they have no meaning.




The day became an endless night;

The night – a never-ending day…

Shadows unfurling over light

Wrapped our bodies made of clay.


Above us – nine starless skies,

Inside us – two empty souls.

I cannot look into your eyes

Since they are just two big black holes.


Hidden thoughts and not a word,

Just your breath over my face.

A silence like I’ve never heard

Is told by your close embrace.


I’m here only for a heart beat;

Soon I’ll be far away again.

Behind me, a tousled bed sheet

Will be all that will remain.




 The sun is bright, my eyes are sad.

Put on my helmet, take my shield,

My whole soul now is iron-clad,

I’m ready for the battle field.


I am aware – my fate is sealed.


I guess I go on a crusade,

But God knows what crusade is this

Against myself to edge the blade,

Throw myself into the abyss.


There is no chance to live in peace.


I cannot lose, I cannot win.

I wish I found a way to live

With all the tension from within,

Lay down my sword, the iron weave.


Myself – I never can forgive.




I wake up with a sense of loss;

The world a place for me has none.

Over the seas I’d go across

But still I’d find nowhere to run.


There is no home under the sun.


 Every morning I lose my soul

And search for it throughout the day;

Late in the night I have it all

When the full moon rises her ray.


Thus midnight finds me on my way.


And then my real world is born –

The dreams are waving their net;

Not anymore I’m being torn,

My sadness all I now forget.


The deepest land knows not regret.


So I am passing through my days

One half regained, the other lost

At midnight bright, at midday haze

From moonlight heat, from sunlight frost.


To be myself – that matters most.



VERTICAL POEM with no number


I am too strong to show my weakness,

Your mind – too right to show its sickness.

You use sophisticated words

To cover abysses and holes,

Always pretend what you are not

But you don’t need to say a lot.

I must say I realize

That you are a bunch of lies

And me myself – I am the same.

So everything is just a game

Without a rule, without a goal,

Maybe to forget the hole

That both of us are in our hearts.

Long time ago – we lost the Path

And now there’s nothing left to say,

Just keep on running on our way.

You know there’s nothing left to do…

At least to thine own self be true.