the foolish heart


I wake up each day
with a promise
in my foolish heart,
for some love
from the days of past,
but this promise
never seems to last
for long,
and just like
the days before
this day is gone,
but with a little hope
for tomorrow
my star shines
out in the blue,
and I fall terribly easily
yet again
for you.

alone, and fine.


every time i visit a cafe
i find myself a corner
in the center
of all attention.

it’s a hard place to claim.

i dress the chair
with my borrowed jacket
and proceed
to secrete away my bodily fluids.

then i chat up the barista
and get my cup
hoping she’d give me free refill
next time and
all the times after that.
it rarely happens
but i do what a man can do.

i find my old jacket
waiting for me
without complaining
that i didn’t get her a cup.

i like that.

and then it’s church time.
that’s how¬†the life
goes by.

alone, in the center
of all attention.

crossroads


she had a
wile smile
that stopped right outside
the intersection of
lustrous
and guile.

while her roseate
lips talked sense
in the diminishing direction
of her moving wheels
I revisited my
reasons
of the night
and talked them out
of blooming in direction
of the light.

but who really gives a shit
when I talk?

I ended up with jack
on my right
standing at the intersection where it all started.

what the hell,
you know.

vacuum.


my heart has a place that is
never going to be filled.

you have that too.

and you will know it.

during your worst time,
and especially
during your best times

you will know
more than ever.

and we will together wait
and
wait

in that space.

that’s all we can do.

brave.


there’s only few things
better than

that song kissing your ears again
the freedom of singing it
out loud
in the middle of the bay
looking in everyone’s eyes
with a damn big smile.

then the bitter taste
of blue wind
hits your face
as the stars draw closer
to your heart than ever.
a strange, but sudden
urge of dreaming the stars
with eyes closed
reminiscing of the moments
that made up that song.
your song.
our song.

and giving up to
the heart, the city, and
yourself.

and taking in a deep breath.
in. out. in. in. breathe out.

look straight.
and keep walking.

just please keep walking.

When someone asked me to write about love


I had no idea.

Love.
Never really knew what it meant.
Never knew if I was ever in love with someone.
Or someone was ever in love with me.

People say it all the time. I said it just because that’s what you do.
It’s probably the most common phrase used in english.

“I love you.”

But I never had the actual feeling.

You know when you can’t fall asleep because reality is better than your dreams.
Or you feel like you’ve found your soul mate and all is good in the world.
Or when she’s right next to you and you fall in love with the way she falls asleep: slowly, and then all at once.

Yep. That one. Never had that.

No idea what it ever meant, or what it was.
Until one day, I realized what the Beatles were singing about in “all you need is love”.
It goes like this:

“Nothing you can make that can’t be made.
No one you can save that can’t be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It’s easy.
All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.”

It has this really catchy vibe, and of course because it’s the Beatles.
So I was listening to it and then I realized, love isn’t something that enriches your soul, finds you your purpose in life, makes you a better person, and all that bullshit.
It’s really simple.
If you think about it, all we really have is time. There is nothing else that matters in the long run. And only love can make this time count. Nothing else. It can be loving your family, loving your friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, animals, trees, dirt, food, your iPhone, whatever.

In that context, I fall in love every single day with something, or with someone. Love doesn’t have to be restricted to just one person. Or one job.

It’s limitless. It’s freedom.
And people try to cage it with their social and religious norms every single day.
Let love be what it is.

and love.

How to write


you ask
how I write poetry.

those words that
rhyme together in an
unusual way that
stays, with you
and the ones getting
wet in their rain.

there’s no secret, darling.

these words
and their poetry that
you claim to see
is not even real.

the only poetry
I believe
I ever saw was in
your wild hair, hypnotizing
its audience in the
wild wind ampitheatre
and in your
eyes, when you look
at me, and

smile.