They say love is blind

And so it should be. Otherwise 

no one could count up to two, 

let alone three.

Before I left

Before I left

I dusted the soles of my shoes

Before I left, I packed.

I did not forget anything

Although I tried to forget everything.

Before I left, it lasted only 44 years 11 days and 5 minutes

After I left...

That lasted forever.

Wish

I’d love to wake up on

A nameless day

A day that no one has noticed

That belongs to no calendar.

A day with time for breathing

To help me go through the others.

Human Tucks

To stroke the grass as if it were

The fur of a dormant animal

Wild as the earth is

To feel its sweat

Earth’s endless work

To bear with us

As we suck its body

Not yet angry enough

To spit its waters

Not yet angry enough

To shake its back

And blow its flames.

Not yet.

Thought 

I'm eating grapes

and reading books

In the heat of the summer.

Waiting for the autumn,

When grapes turn into wine

Books into thoughts,

This time into longing.

***

There comes a time

When clothes seem older

Than you are.

Some clothes wear days

You may not wish remember.

That’s why women hate ironing

Their own clothes.

They’d rather flat somebody else’s past.

That’s why women keep buying new clothes,

A continuous celebration of the future.

Future in the Past

She left nothing behind.

Only a future

Wrapped like a gift

Which he had forgotten

To open.

Walls

When a wall falls

Another one will appear

For it’s got to be two worlds

For its got to be fear

For it’s got to be unrest.

No one talks about it

But everyone knows 
it’s growing there
Somewhere

Despite drones

Despite clones

Despite virtual minds

There is always

A guy who's

 insane enough

with the will

And the power

To invisibly erect a wall.

Building walls 

is a highly mastered technique

Of the invisible people

Using materials which one cannot see.

Once done
Lucidity falls on every human mind

People on both sides

Can stare at it and wonder.

But then little can be done
The wall cannot be undone
Before another invisible wall
Starts to be planned and weaved.

Seasons

God created summer

for people to wander and meet.

And winter for people to think,

And to sit.

As for the other two,

They were meant for fussy people

To take their time

And get ready for whatever is

Next.

Oxford Girls

They wear high heels

In a stumbling way

Their mind is high

In a natural state of play.

Their glasses are transparent

Just like yours or mine

So you might think

They look at you

But that is rarely true

You never know

what they actually see

And their looks will never tell

The way they think

about you, about me.

Oh, Oxford girls

Just take a very discreet look

when they come your way

There’s something about them

which might make you

want to stay.

Summer in Oxford

Empty book shelves

Sad windows

Resembling looks of widows

And the sound

Of suitcase wheels

Going away...

It’s summer in Oxford.

***
I'm stuck with my wings
under the sun
No wind seems strong enough 
to make me fly
No storm at the horizon.


***
And as you grow
You have to listen to the grown ups
Who claim to have got it right.

Listening becomes your best skill
Until the day there's no one to listen to,
On that day you can'y even sigh,
As your voice is gone into their grave.



***
I can hear a suitcase:
New thoughts are coming to town.

Guts

How dare you green against the stone? 

How dare you flower against the snow? 

How dare you walk against the flow? 

How dare you speak, 

how dare you know?

 ***

Those places miss my soles,

My soul misses those places.

  I’m wandering and wondering,

Emigration

Is a never-ending

Hesitation.

All Saints

Before you reach God,

all saints will have dealt with you.

Before you reach the saints 

Civil servants will have driven you

Out of your mind.

Before you get to them

The charity people would have measured 

Your virtue against theirs.

By the time you reach God

You will have been everyone else's feast.

God is alone

Yet he can make no mistake

At all.

Maggie

When shall I die, she wondered.

And instantly she knew

It had to be on a Monday morning.

Let everyone get bored

Over the weekend

And still have

Something to talk about

Over the Monday morning coffee.

Let them decide, let them change

Their mind

About what sort of funeral

Should there be

When it

Comes to me.

Give them time to hate me

Let them sing against me

Let them get me into the charts.

Let me stay there 

Till I'm on top

And then I can be buried.

That’s what I call democracy.

42

I passed a log leaning against a wall.

Swollen by time,

Drift apart from its vanished fence,

King of no kingdom.

42, it was written

On its shrivelled wood.

You can’t be only 42, I thought.

You are too serene and beautiful for that.

Of Poets

Occasionally,

I fall in love

With a poet

I look him up

In poet’s corners

Take him home

And read 'im

Inside out.

After a while,

I put him on a shelf.

And another poet comes about.

Poets don’t mind being put aside,

As long as they are left in good company.

Happy Birthday

For you’re a jolly good fellow

I wrapped your gift in yellow

But because I don't want you be sad

I wrapped it again. In red.

Because you’re so out of sight

I thought I should wrap it in white.

But because when I see you I wink

I wrapped it again; in pink.

Finally, I wrapped it in blue.

Because you’re too good to be true.
'Cause I'm still in luv with you.

It's All about A Tricycle in the End

Retirement is still my dream
That age when no one has any expectation from you
That time when you can do everything you like
And I will.
Including riding a tricycle in this town.

 If I gave it a title, it would be longer than the poem

Infinity protested:

Eight.

Burden

I walk ahead of me.

Behind, my shadow

Made of unfulfilled dreams

Limps.

Monday Morning

I wake up and 
take a look at the world:
Bea has got engaged,

Paul is halfway through his readings

Michael has published an article

And another war is on the verge of breaking

While I haven’t even finished my coffee.

Close

Close

Close

Shut down.

Force shut down.

I can now live

My own life.

Innocent Question

What would you feel like

Being a letter

Omitted by all sorts of illiterates

Or being inserted by mistake

In places where you don’t belong

Or being used in the composition

Of words you dislike

All you can wish for sometimes

Is not to know
who surrounds you.

*** 

To know the time

No watch is needed

As no watch will tell you

When to be silent

Or when to speak,

when to leave…

and when to give…

how long you are to wait

Before you receive.

It Is This Place

               to Oxford

It is this place
Where people lose things
All sorts of things:

gloves, umbrellas, socks and pillows
Ear-rings and engagement rings,
Where so many people lose their minds
to its beauty.
(It is only lost books I haven't come across).
It is this place where pencils seem to grow
Off the ground
As if they're thrown out by the buried
To continue their idea.

It is this place... 
Which smells like croissant

On a Saturday morning

And beer on a Saturday night

And then nothing...

No noise, no scent.

Only church bells

And letters... and signs...

And science...

Silent science.

s-N-O-w

It’s snowing.

Everyone panics.

Everyone apart

From the daffodils

And the queen.

They treat snow

With silence

And due respect.

Everyone apart from

The daffodils, the queen and the children.

Children love it!

They can finally make big people

Who listen to them!

Prevent Cold

Chicken soup

Brazil nuts

Sleep

Gentle  exercise

Garlic

Stay warm

Vitamins

Hot bath,

If none of these work,

Just die.

Cut the root

Of all these evil viruses.

January

January is a 30 day long Monday
When you don't feel like doing what you ought to
When Santa Clause no longer exists;
or he's just a deaf old man at his best
And you feel fooled by your own beliefs
that the year was going to be new
when in fact it is only your old life
that expects you,
Full of unfinished business.

IaNUarie 

Ianuarie e-o luuunga zi de luni

In care n-ai chef sa faci ce trebuie

Mos Craciun nu mai exista; e cel mult un mos surd

Iar tu stai ca un fraier si gandesti

ca degeaba ai crezut ca anu-i nou

Cand te asteapta vechea ta viata

Plina de treburi

Vesnic neterminate