Despre despărțire

Ce atâta dramă în despărțire? E internetul plin cu articole despre cât de dureroasă este o despărțire și despre ce să eviți să faci sau cum să-ți revii și alte și mai câte rețete. Nu spun că nu există durere când iubitul te lasă cu ochii-n soare sau invers. Însă, despărțirea are multe aspecte pozitive: în primul rând, o libertate desăvârșită!, apoi lecția importantă pe care ți-o oferă. După-despărțirea este timpul în care, așa cum spunea o prietenă, îți testezi limitele, ai șansa să stai față în față cu tine și să te cunoști, să te accepți așa cum ești, să te iubești și să te respecți pe tine însuți/ însăți, să descoperi ce vrei de la cei din jur și ce poți tu să oferi. Cu alte cuvinte, este un timp fertil pentru autoevaluare și pentru a crește. S-a terminat cu zicala “Tot răul spre bine!” ! Despărțirea nu este ceva rău, ci este o șansă pentru a-ți îmbunătăți calitatea vieții. Da, poți să plângi de sare cămașa de pe tine dacă asta simți, însă nu ai unde altundeva să te îndrepți decât înainte. Așa că șterge-ți lacrimile și zâmbește! Viața este un dans continuu pe ritmuri variate, iar după blues vine mereu momentul țopăirii pe cele mai nebunești linii melodice. So, let’s dance! 🙂

Autumn fireworks

Fireworks are floating in the sky

is it the end?

August is now long gone

just like the summer of our youth

is it the end?

No new breeze to fill the air

the same old songs

with dusty lyrics

and a straw of sand left behind

is it the end?

We’re rushing in our car

towards the sunset

like in all the American movies

that we all dreamed about

a fake freedom

a broken promise of happiness

is it the end?

September is here

and yet we’re rushing in our car

as far away as possible

for the dimmest hope of sunshine.

Will we make it in the end?

Verses on the balcony

These quiet nights

When the sprinklers startle me

cicadas and frogs come alive

their song fighting through the white noise

of the hurrying cars

there’s this autumn breeze

whistling through the trees

and the clothes almost dry on the balcony

someone has company

and a jolly good time

voices carried by the wind

lights are on and curious eyes

look through the windows

what lives could those frames host

this humming of an August night

that I’d like to share with you

the hymn of a sleepless city

Poor Dionysos

You don’t know my name

and I forgot it myself

I suffer from short term memory loss

& a bit of ADHD

Keep them pouring, love,

for my story is written

between sips of Prosecco

I believe I’m not an alcoholic

but I can only catch a glimpse of my name

while the bubbles tumble down

my thirsty throat

Keep them pouring, darling,

I’m starting to remember

spots of blue and brown,

spots of sun and blood

an abstract painting

of letters and smoke

My vision is blurry

I think I remember a Valley of Butterflies

a boat, a beach, a bus ride with no tickets

there was no kiosk to buy any

it’s not our fault

then why do we feel guilty?

Another sip and I will remember

I’m sure

Isn’t my name G..?

A day with a tangerine

You once gave me a tangerine

in a bar

over the counter

and told me it is the key to happiness

I look at it, quite skeptic, I would say

in the first 3 seconds,

then I discovered the smell of its skin

the beautiful colours, so alive

and the wonderful taste,

so I fell in love with it almost instantly.

It was summer, that day

when you gave me a tangerine,

and I was a bit of a skeptic,

at the beginning

not knowing what it is

and trying not to get deceived

by its bling,

but when I felt the smile on my face

I fell in love with it almost instantly.

The bar was not full,

not busy at all for that hour of the day,

just some random strangers

pretending to be friends,

pretending to love each other

for the sake of perpetuating the species,

and I didn’t expect to see you there,

playing with that tangerine.

You know, I wasn’t sure at first,

how safe it is, considering how playful it seemed,

but I fell in love with it almost instantly.

The light was dim in that bar

and I couldn’t see your face too clearly,

I barely distinguished the shape of the tangerine,

but when you turned around,

suddenly everything was glowing

and the tangerine- the sign of the promised land,

landed in my palms.

I got a bit nervous, didn’t know

if it is the right thing to do,

but holding it felt so right.

You said “It’s yours if you want.”

so I just took it,

a tangerine from the Akropolis,

and I fell in love with it

almost

instantly.

A story of faded roses

I knew you were trouble when you walked in

with your boyish charm

and your sneaky look

beautiful like a devil

face of an angel

like Romantics would say

perfect painting of a dream

I thought to myself,

over-evaluating my capabilities

in my feminist approach

that I don’t believe in

(let the rocks start flying to me),

I thought to myself

I can tame you.

And your mob and sex stories

the hollywoodian movement

could be felt in every curve of your tight pants

and palm trees shirts

you were telling me how one night

you met her

she was your boss, you didn’t want to cheat

and I was sipping from the glass

of life

a lesson I didn’t know I need

and yet you were charming

in your honest dishonesty

recalling how you went to Malta

to mend your broken heart

with a gazelle of a German model

naked in the middle of the night

in the park

such vivid stories, I felt as if I were there

stuck in the past with you

the wind was quite strong on the top of Lycabettus hill

and I put a blazer on

to cover my naked back

and my hotroad black swimming suit

gasping for air

to resurface from that multinational,

culturally different

dive in your past

I was still walking straight, with my head up high

those days

because I knew nothing of this sort of defeat

I was still smiling in the sun,

but the sun was too hot

and it melted my smile away.

Can you still recognize me today?

Your own work of art.

Summer in a jar

Cădeam lați amândoi sub arșița soarelui

ne scurgeam prin șezlong

și ne făceam una cu nisipul

sau cu pietrele

pe alocuri câte un crab își căuta casă nouă

în palmele noastre

și ochii lăcrimau a sare

era o lascivitate în somnolența verii

ce se mula peste noi

haine de-o palmă sau de-loc

sudori prelingându-se între coapse

și-o sete să ne aruncăm

unul în altul în mare în soare

în vară Egee.

Nostalgie de iarnă

Dintotdeauna mi-a plăcut

mirosul de mare pe piele

și căldura soarelui stocată

în roșeața de pe obrajii mei

și de pe umeri

Cu părul umed încă,

și-o rochie albă

ieșeam, târziu, să te aștept la poartă

ca prin doinele și baladele noastre

numai că poarta asta nu era a Raiului,

ci pur și simplu o poartă de fier

fără nicio notă distinctivă

menită să țină departe musafirii nepoftiți

fără badge pentru a putea fi identificați

eu îmi uitam mereu badge-ul acasă

pentru că seara nu mai făceam parte din turmă

mă transformam și eu,

ca Batman,

în om

așa că nu puteam trece

și te-așteptam, sub valuri de căldură

aproape de miezul nopții

de partea cealaltă a porții noastre idilice

să mergem să ne-amețim

cu puțină umanitate,

cu puțină naivitate

ca la-nceput de cuplu

în mijloc de vară.

Foreign

A foreign eye is casting a shadow over my love for you.
I wanted to leave.
I wanted to stay.
The tide is high today,
Fish swim happily into the trap
Of mankind.
We’re digging holes in the sand
And fill them with water
This is our future,
Here lay our dreams
Today.
Tomorrow the sand becomes glass
Some pretty woman is wearing our dreams
In colourful beads
Around her neck.
We’re on our beach.
The air is still and we laugh.
Some other steps in the sand
Cast a shadow upon our today.
I wanted to leave.
I wanted to stay.

It is I

It is I who is painted in the reflection of your eyes

the shadows cast by your eyelashes

so gently on your lids

are telling the story of a far-away kingdom

lost in the sand

surrounded by trees and flowers in bloom

with princesses and their Aladdins

with rivers full of riches

that taste like jasmine

your lips, on the other hand,

which still carry the memory of lost kisses

whisper the song of the wind and water

of life itself

emerging from the most unfriendly places

your palms still sweaty from grinding the trees

your shoulders still hurting from all the dreams

your body is a living story

of what it was and what will come

Chronos surfacing unopposed

an obeying Sisyphus playing the drums from time to time

And I can see myself in you

I’m there, in all that green and sand and kisses

floating, untouched, in the reflection of your eyes.

The urge

“-Pack up your stuff and go!

It’s been months since I haven’t seen a single face in my way or heard another voice but mine. I was talking to myself just not to forget how a human voice sounds like.

I was 16 when I first got my calling. My mind was completely somewhere else, chasing some butterflies, when I suddenly felt the urge. I didn’t understand it very well and I feared I was possessed. And indeed I was, by a force that was greater than me. But I understood this much later, thanks to my mentor who discovered me. For years I was struggling to adapt, to be like my silly young peers, thinking that I might be insane. I was always carrying a mirror with me to check the expression on my face from time to time, when no one was looking, just to make sure nothing changed, it’s still me. I was never too popular, but didn’t want to go completely out of the radar either, as I considered it was the only way to learn how to be like the others. But, to be honest, I never really liked the taste of ice cream or popcorn. I was more of a steak kind of person. The doctor said it’s my anemia.

The isolation was somewhat my idea and I managed to persuade my mentor it’s for the best. No hard good-byes, I left as sudden as I came.

-Pack up your stuff and go!

So, I started pumping up pills, hoping that this is the solution. The worst was at night, when the urge was awakening the most, infiltrating into my dreams. I was waking up all sweaty and running to the bathroom to see myself in the mirror. Good, nothing changed, it was just a dream. This is the real life, not the Metamorphosis. I told no one about the battle inside of me, about the volcano that was about to erupt. Luckily, my parents didn’t notice either. They thought it’s just the normal manifestation of teenage-hood. I was praying to be true.

As the years went by, I became better and better at hiding the urge away. However, I never managed to hide myself from it. It was there, with me, no matter where I was going, as present as my shadow.

-Pack up your stuff and go! the master said. I felt no pain, whatsoever, I felt this was the right thing to do. It was my time, I could be on my own.

I started reading secretly about it on the Internet and in the library. I was always choosing a public space and wearing some sort of disguise. I felt like I was in in one of those detective movies and it gave me some sort of rush. After all, I wasn’t doing anything bad, I was just doing some research, just to make sure I’m not sick or at least to find a cure. This is how I met my mentor. On a chat.

I remember when we first met. Broad daylight in one of the busiest streets in the city. We recognized each other immediately. I was anxious. We smiled, shook hands, and started walking in silence. No small talk, no self-introduction, no unnecessary words. We walked until we reached a small house. Everything was so new and so elegant inside. But I couldn’t focus on that, as my urge started kicking in again. My mentor understood immediately.

-Here, have a sip, I know how thirsty you are.

It was the first time when someone understood my needs to such a degree that I felt safe and free. We finally had a conversation about my very special craving and my very special way of being. My mentor made me understand that there are other people like me out there and I shouldn’t be afraid to embrace my demons. That night I arrived home late, but decided that the only place for me is with my mentor.

-Pack up your stuff and go! It was only natural for me to leave and I don’t regret it, even though this is how you managed to find me.

Moving in the next day was not a rash decision, how others may think. I changed my way of thinking, my way of living within a few weeks. I was a completely different person, more spiritually evolved, finally accepting who I am. Of course, this meant I had to cut loose everything that was holding me back, therefore I stopped communicating with my family and friends.

My training, my becoming, lasted for a few months. My mentor had some powerful connections, so I’ve had a few jobs, just to get the taste, just to understand if I’m ready or not. I knew how dangerous it is, yet I was one of my master’s best students.

The day the company reached out to me, I felt like I finally made it, that this was my chance to be on my own. After all, each student wants to outgrow the teacher. And I was becoming cocky. So I told my mentor that I want to leave.

-Pack up your stuff and go! If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.

I wasn’t worried about any troubles. And yet, I was mistaken. Who would have thought that my instruments were going to break in that fateful night? But I needed to quench my thirst, so I did a very messy job. This was the agreement with the company: I do the job, they allow me to have a bit on the side for myself.

To be honest, these months in solitude didn’t really move anything inside me, as you guys would have wanted to. I had no epiphany, no return to God, nothing like that. I repeat, I do not regret anything as this is who I am and nothing can change that. The difficult part was trying to survive without my dose. When I was doing my job- because this is what it was for me, just a job- I only needed a few ounces twice per week, I didn’t do it daily.

I still remember that day at my mentor’s, my very first day there and my very first sip- a bit weird tasting it for the first time, but the flavour invaded my mouth and all my senses opened up. It wasn’t as I expected it to be, maybe because I was still ashamed of who I was. I’ve replayed every moment from those months in my mind. Pure happiness.

The only thing I feel guilty about is the fact that I didn’t have the chance to say good-bye to my mentor.”

These are the last words before being executed on the death chair of one of the most ferocious criminals our society has met. The defendant was killing for a living, a mercenary, who was feeding on the victims’ blood. Publishing this story was the defendant’s last wish.