Slain

Castles of faith begin to collapse,

And clerics are crushed by the evil axe.

Blind men are seeing the mankind fall,

Created by creatures on their sprawl.

We breathe the same old sharp reek

Spread by grim faces of a cold cheek.

We roughened inside slain by ordeals,

Without no escape for the future to reveal.

 

Children are staring at Tyrant’s fad

And get intoxicated by his jihad

I’ll try not to get into too much psychic

Retrieving myself from evil lyrics.

 

Sadly we live next to deaf nations,

But we will yell so they can hear our voices.

Peace on Earth is in every faith commitment,

“Ode to Joy” should be our sacred Anthem.

Editing our life.

 

 

 

Editing is a discipline that we start to learn in the moment that we are born. Some people are aspiring to edit perfections, through a level of science and art, while others maintain it at the waterline or don’t give a shit on it. The more society is developed the more we depend on editing.

We are editing not to achieve the perfection

but to cheat the perfection.

We like editing because is very hard printed in our brain and it’s part of human culture.

 The truth with a hint of a lie.

Rearranging your speeches.

Revising your plans.

Amending the situations.

Restriction of your thoughts.

Suppression your dreams.

Control of your happiness.

Overseeing your wealth.

Managing your madness.

Directing your future.

Yes, we know it’s part of our name and after all, we have to let people – and search engines – to know what we are doing.

The word unspoken of The vocal of words

Don’t you feel strange that most of the people are posting happy pictures? Where are all the bad pictures? Are we ashamed of them?

I smile to you with my eyes so I can see it later.

To be honest we need editing. How boring will sound a story if we simply piece together some facts from our life.

Ones upon a time…..

The poet’s insomnia

Late in the night,

The Insomnia looms,

The lonely mind of the poet,

Gazing at the cigar fumes.

 

The poet mind builds,

Insomnia of desire love,

With bricks of passion verses,

Like mason building a wall.

 

Born from a brainstorm,

Of thoughts, lived on the day,

Verse after verse,

Insomnia spreads her rays.

 

The dearth of fervor verses

Are raising from the paper,

Cursing angrily insomnia,

And the poor poet, forever.

 

One last gleam of verse

And the love poem is done,

Insomnia lets the poet to sleep,

With the arrival of dawn.

To my Mother

I read through your facial wrinkles

The strained web of your joys of life

I see through your tired eyes

The sleepless nights of a crying baby

I hear through your boundless ears

Traces on the phone of the last whispers

I feel through your restless heart

Motherly warmth of an accomplished soul

I touch through your delicate hands

The things that took life from you

I speak through your faded lips

The confidence words of an advice

I suffer through your guarded mind

The crave to a hug that is lost in silence

I care through your endless love

The desire of happiness for me.

Let’s not forget that we were children

Piata Operei, Timisoara

Let’s not forget that we were children,

And stop pretending that we listen

A child,

Who’s asking us to play,

Outside,

 With them on rainy day.

Let’s not abandon our memories,

We all grew up without worries.

Some of us more,

some of us less

But we all cherish our childhood nest.

It hurts to know you have grown old

And treasure all your moments like gold.

And you my friend,

 Try to understand

That you are a child until THE END