un om care deseneaza

drawing by me - the painter's dream

am fost intrebat azi, ce sunt? dincolo de o pregatire profesionala, am gandit raspunsul - primul sentiment, primul gand, primul impuls de a raspunde: sunt un om care deseneaza. nu ma simt nimic altceva, poate n-am fost nimic altceva niciodata - totul doar o amanare pana in acest punct. ce-am invatat? am aflat lucruri, am vazut locuri si am intalnit cativa oameni. totul ca sa ajung sa spun acum ceea ce simt: sunt un om care deseneaza.

fie ca o fac cu un creion si o bucata de hartie, fie ca o fac in timp ce scriu - desenand povesti sau idei din cuvinte si virgule, cu ceva puncte de suspensie agatate... fie ca o fac intr-o mangaiere a unei fete dragi, dimineata, sau intr-o propozitie aruncata aproape soptit catre cel ce ma asculta; fie ca o fac cu o pensula si noile culori pe care inca nu le inteleg complet - acrylice, de tot felul, care 3D care fosforescente sau cu tente vechi si noi, reinventate, recalculate incat totul sa fie la indemana; fie ca o fac, asa cum imi place cel mai mult, cu o coala alba curata si cu un pix negru - din care se pot naste lumi - lumi pe care inca nu le-am vazut dar le banuiesc, lumi ale mele pentru ceilalti.

sunt un om care se regaseste printre liniile pe care le lasa pe o pagina virgina.

da-mi un servetel si un pix si iti dau un prieten.

da-mi o penita si un carton si iti dau o oglinda a ce va fi.

da-mi-te si te desenez - caci asa pot iubi cel mai mult, ca asa stiu a iubi, caci asa iubesc - desenand.

poate voi mai fi intrebat ce sunt, cu cine stie cate atributii premergatoare intrebarii sau cautate dincolo de propriul raspuns. oriunde si oricand, de acum inainte, doar astfel voi raspunde: sunt un om, care deseneaza...

atat de om, incat imi regasesc trufia in dorinta sa va placa.

to hope

photo by me - sibiu

better

to hope than no dreaming

Utopian lines to be drawn instead of an empty page

to be blinded by the light than crush in slithered darkness

thunderous singing while silence is watching

a small boat on a ravishing storm than a wreck in paradise

running without breath in-front of statues

be-soiled in the gutter of the world than clean in still palace

the finder of Pandora's box.

better

to hope.

there is a God and He's laughing

photo by me - from sibiu's tower

sometimes you encounter people that remind you about Him, about why you are here, what you really are and what you have to do while living. sometimes all seems so simple, plain and so easy to do-to it get done-to understand-to feel-to live. sometimes life reveals it's simplicity in a brief moment - you just have to be careful not to miss it... and listen to everything around you, please, messengers come and go all the time.

all it takes is a sunrise

to wake up.

a warm "welcome" surrounds you,

as everything has been waiting for you

to get to this particular moment. 

suddenly the world is so simple,

full of meaning

you guess, you understand, you know

as you had known all this time

not knowing.

all it takes is a sunrise

to simple up your being here,

what to do

and what has to be done.

all it takes is a sunrise

for all to be just answers.

and if you let yourself live

you might be lucky enough

to hear Him laugh...

there is a God

and He's laughing...

laugh along

we have all the time in the world

"We have all the time in the world

Time enough for life

To unfold

All the prescious things

Love has in store"

                         Louis Armstrong

bring it on Mr. trumpeter,

tell it to the world...

give us a smile, as you so often do,

look to us gently and wise

and

sing us some more...

you've seen it

in your soft wonderings

and put it in your docil tone,

the wonder of the world

so please be gentle one more try

of your established kindness

'cause there's so much you still need to teach us

of beeing good

and of the good.

you do tell it so well,

n'est pas?

c'est si bon...

question 30

can anyone tell me what i should do,
why have i come here
thirty years ago,
when i was born?

what was i thinking, coming here with a plan forgotten as soon as my first breath?
what's the purpose? what do i have to do? how do i have to live?
what more do i have to learn, and talking about that, so what's the lesson for this life?

i guess i know the answer, deep inside, but i don't know how to get to it.
i think i'll just have to live...

awkward monologue

photo by me - the blue staircase in sibiu

you should have told me about today,

that i would meet you.

i should have been prepared...

now i have to mumble among words

only to tell you my name,

simple as it is,

rather than how you can make me feel

if anything should happen

between us.

i'm not so good at monologues,

and even worse at dialogging,

but that

your really had to expect.

words, sometimes,

are like drops of oil in boiling water,

they don't seem to fit me.

it would be best to just look me in the eyes

maybe something there can be found.

or you just might listen to my voice,

forget the words and their logic,

care only for the tone and fondness of my voice.

might work.

you might get a glimpse of me,

broken apart of what i'm saying.

care nothing for my words,

they only deceive, bounded inside letters,

stuck in the surprise of meeting you.

really should have told me about today,

about facing you.

i should have been prepared...

i've waited for this

only

all of my life.

the description of a Prince riding a caterpillar

in that shadowed forest, only his face shines. you can see him miles away, a lighted dot in the dark, like a firefly coming to greet you in a cold summer night. nevertheless, the sound of the footsteps of his ride meets you first.

he rides his faithful stallion - a blue white dotted caterpillar with 1000 legs, each shod with gold slippers with bells made of amber by some old deathless craftsman whom he encountered few years ago, on a butterflies powder seeking trip. if you cannot imagine the aspect of the caterpillar, try listening to a Buddhist monk on he 21st of June in a leap year - that could give you a clue. and if even that won't work, try dreaming on a Sunday morning, about eleven o'clock, in a green bedsheets wrapped around a single walnut tree handmade bed with the help of a red candle balancing above your head, on which you must definitely wear a night-bonnet my Grandma must make for you. but, you know, my Granny is kind of busy nowadays, so leave it be. if you cannot imagine the Prince ridding his caterpillar, you'll just have to take my word for it.

his eyes have the same color as the back of his caterpillar, only that is for the summer. in winter and spring, his eyes change from day to day, even him can't tell you the exact shade or glow of his own eyes. the best way is to guess by looking at them. if you truly want to do that, his eyes will take the tint of your desire. if you do it because somebody asked you or just for fun, his eyes will might as well turn black, because only black you will see in all of the looks ten days from that moment on. but, what would made you guess if you don't really want it? why would you like to upset the Prince? besides, if there's no curiosity within, why the asking?

nobody knows his eyes in winter. too cold.

he wears a red tunic. his Mom made it for him the day of his birth. and each year from that point on he adds another button at his sleeve. he has long arms, so long sleeves, therefor a multitude of buttons can be added during his first life, then continued along the other lives - no one knows how many they will be or even how long will all of that take. what's for sure is that he's got a knapsack full of buttons, one greater, colorful or wackier  than the another.

the Prince sing along with his caterpillar, actually along with the song of his caterpillar's footsteps. it's quite a cheerful melody. catchy. i could hum it for you but... i'm a bit embarrassed - i yelled last night at Yardley, my dog, he couldn't hear me because he's used to listen to loud music, and i had to call him down for dinner. after i kind of lost my voice yelling, he heard and we had our usual and some bluebottle tea which is good for bonding, so to speak. but you gotta believe me, it really is a catchy tune, Prince's and of his caterpillar's steps.

i won't bother you no more, and please accept my gratitude for taking the time hearing me. if you stumble into the Prince, please, i beg of you, say Hy from me. tell him the man with eight glasses said hello and i'm still waiting for him and his faithful stallion to drop of for tea. Yardley want to play chess with the caterpillar, they both enjoy it so much. TA-DA!

          

remember the music

when
too dark seems all
just listen to the music of the leaves below your window.
let the sound of the city go
put on mute the bothering noise along with all you want to leave behind,
pause the quotidian.
maybe
in that moment
a bird will gracefully do a solo
and some butterfly wings will accompany,
the percussion beetle will swing
and the cricket will end the phrase.

the silent city astonished
only
for the song meant to you.

when there's too much,
just listen to the music,
the old language
understood by all.

a note can set you free,
a song can give you a life
and
if you dare to sing...
you might just be happy!

the comeback

oh, lethal muse, do come back!
kind enough to rejoin my soul
for things that have been waiting
to get done.


sometimes harsh yet sometimes a lover,
my to-die-for muse,
light your candle again
for my eyes to see.


i hear neither wind nor music
without you
not able and not willing
without my spirit filled-up with thy shine. 


these are my last words
that i can barely draw out from within.
my last breath, 
my last thought 
and 
my last feeling
are meant for you, 
my lethal muse...