Category Archives: Love

creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Don’t Drink the Chaos

The cubicle welcomes you
come now sit, go through your e-mails
do your work proudly.

No! Don’t let your eyes wander outside,
it is just a beautiful tree in wind,
just a pond with ripples of water ,
There are no shapes out of them that you can imagine.
There are no memories in their shadows.
This silence ain’t whispering you to write.
Close the notepad.
Just don’t write a new poem again.
Don’t be maniacal.
You need caffeine,
to drift away from your thoughts.
Just fuck them, right?
You gotta work now.

Just don’t search now on the web,
How Hemingway blew his head,
How Sylvia path asphyxiated herself while
her children were asleep,
How Fitzgerald’s heart betrayed him,
How Kerouac died of cirrhosis,
How that old lazy fat fuck Bukowski
told you once to go all the way
otherwise don’t even try.

You are not one of them,
You shall not be one of them.
you are drinking your chaos within,
they all gave in,
they couldn’t drink it.

but you are drowning it in caffeine
and shitting out tons of work.
you shall survive.
if you want to.

But I know you won’t.
I can see it in your eyes,
so go on write then
as you always have.
Make it worth it.
Don’t drink the chaos within
Ever.

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creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, lost, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Metalhead

99-koncert-baciary-w-zakopanem

Red lights devour the earthly silence,
crushed bits of half scribbled lyrics
lie all over the floor consumed by the unseen darkness.

the smell of the warm untouched beer disappears
as I hear someone scream with an agony and a common distaste
for this sinking society, for wars, for people,
on my speakers.

It is a gift sometimes
when after a shitty tiring day
you don’t have to scream your lungs
out, you don’t have to thrash things,
you don’t have to think of death:
someone records and does it for you.
You just have to listen.

I believe there is no god,
just a few men and women
who show us the death, without the fear
tickling our spine through their dark
melodies and works.

I live another new day,
I hide another terrible scream,
I switch to the next song.
I am a Metal-Head.

 

 

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beauty, Death, Drinks, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Dostoevsky

This guy got me thinking,
through delirium and despair
with sprinkles of madness over
a flesh with a weak heart sewed
over layers of hope.

the ones who write about uncertainty,
death and creating hope out of it are the real writers that made me feel something.

Dostoevsky was the zenith of it.

The Rest writers nowadays are selling themselves, mushrooming like burger joints, using layers of cheesy love and regret to get noticed.

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creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, think

Ashes of the Asylum

Even the benevolent breeze
spares the scattered ashes
of what was once an asylum
for flesh and bones trapped
within wandering souls.

They told me in school
that red and green fuses to yellow
but all I can see are the dark ashes,
the remains of the magnificent tree.

The birds cannot rest,
the dogs are dying of heat
and I can’t write my poems,
for I was a patient of that asylum,
it caressed my sanity every evening.

My poems have nowhere to go,
they don’t hide in the branches as they used to,
now they hide within me
and I hide inside them.

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dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, think

Hershey’s

It is the death of light,
no one mourns.

artificial corpses
of plastic and white
reanimate the dead.

vapors of warm air
caress us.

Our souls
have returned back
through their
meaningless voyages.

We lie down, naked.
and entertain the ceiling fan.

Your breasts have a thousand
ways of loving me
yet they lie still,

We are drowned in unseen realities.

I spread Hershey’s all over you,
from lips to wondrous thighs.

I start from lips.
You tremble like a mutilated animal.

I kiss your cleavage.
You tempt me like the morning sun.

I lick your nipples.
You abhor the wait as grasses do for the warm rain.

Minutes grows to hours,
as you take my hands between your legs.

For you turn to God.
the one who abolishes time.
Revering the satanic touch
of the person who once disavowed
the warm body of yours.

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beauty, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Confluence

Come have a peek,
these doors of the heart
don’t open by themselves.

Mind the rust,
for some thoughts died quickly
oxidized by the stinking air
of negativity.
They never passed through the heart.

Mind the accumulated dust,
for some thoughts entered and suffocated,
sadly turned to ashes
without even tasting the blood.
Their resurrection is impending.

Mind the mystic music,
for it heals and unifies a few chosen thoughts,
here they mate and produce the progeny of an image,
which I paint with my palette of words.

Mind the warm divine river.
On its bank, I stand and paint the image,
with the air caressing my hair and
the wet grass below my feet.

The Confluence of above all,
is what you are reading,
is what I offer everyday
to the gods and mortals
who I meet in the path
of my destiny.

 

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