in a world of free verseand where
the sun is always allowing
a happy life in the shade,
for everyone to take part
in the bazaar
of melancholy and
little cheap things.
5.
I woke up this morning
feeling light and fresh
as if nothing would bother anymore
my blue sky filled with pastel white clouds.
you broke my soul into so many pieces,
looking at me
with your candid and undisturbed face,
but today,
all those pieces came back
in the form of biscuits and gingerbread,
reconstructing, like a puzzle,
my life,
in its absoluteness.
I woke up this morning,
being me, again,
in a world
where love
has never left.
6.
my green cupboard
has its own story to tell
ever since I saw it,
waiting for me to open it
for the first time.
since then,
we became close friends
sharing crackers, bread, and nuts,
and occasionally cashew and pistachio
as an exchange
of our wooden
and genuine love.
we dream together
in the afternoon,
of a life of leisure,
where I write books
and it rejoices
in my simple presence,
forever, never changing form,
or appearance or even age,
so we can be friends
and write stories side by side,
in this sweet and continuous,
suspended time.
7.
in your grandparents' house
you look for old chairs,
where old memories would sit
to wait just for you.
in a long-forgotten time,
that big white cup of coffee
and that fresh scent of apple pie
are your only friends,
in an empty wooden kitchen
where no one has been
for years.
cozy and surreal
is your day
while looking through
the kaleidoscope
of times,
where you can only see
geometrical shapes
and split images,
of your golden past.
8.
a square painting
of a ballerina
is taking a break
from a busy day
at work
in the silent museum
just a few roads down
on Kensington street.
its wooden frame
quiet, in its nature,
is thinking about
how squares are preferable
to circles or even triangles,
in this two dimensional world
where it is living
a simple and quiet life.
no one has ever cleaned
the dust that accumulates
over time
on this painting
where the ballerina always dances
when there’s no one around.
9.
where does my life start,
and where does it end,
only oranges or an apple
can tell.
they always enjoy being
in a fruit basket,
for as long as
they are not desired
by anyone
and their sweetness
and flavor
spread like a silent scent
in the morning.
they dream
about the times
when they were only
