Bent branches

Every little drop
Turns into a snowflake.
The problem is that
They are still within me.
Every memory hurts
When it is reminded of sadness
Of not having been told
The happiness wades so fast.
When will I see again
The hot summersun touch my eyes?
When will I feel again
Soft hair embrace my cheeks.
There is no more wine
That can make me drunk.
I wish it could extinguish
Tears of the future afront.


be there

the world is surfaced by distances.
they disattach, tear apart, depress.
they don’t let our mind rest.
they call.
they yell.
they shout.
they make you feel misplaced
entire life.
it is, however, a greater freedom
than staying all your life in a castle.
since all of them are made of sand.


new you, new year

the temperatures of your hands
are settled with small degree bumps.
if they are not circling around me,
i feel dead.
my immunodeficiency caused by the absence of light
and warmth
is sometimes cured by garlic.
it smells and
it is like having a pineapple substitute
a christmas tree.
not that i am especially religious,
it is just without stories,
life becomes a mere survival.