Like an Idyll

These infinities of a coal black heaven that spread over me...  It dawns. It's raining and on the street is dirt and mud... I'm captive of a senseless intention (once again imprisoned in the gloomy monotony of the Sunday-afternoon). "...a place where you can to eavesdrop the language of silence." - The modest opinion of a … Continue reading Like an Idyll


On the dark gray sidewalk: gently black shadows (a gentle black color that lures you to rest). In the quiet, silent Harbor: Fishing boats in slumbering absence. An old fisherman (with a cigarette stump in the mouth), fights (stoically) with the persistence stubbornness of the fishing nets. The mute, motionless indifference of sluggish sea. Two distant … Continue reading Dusk

In expectation

A couple of fleeting words in passing; two-three (timidly) encounters of glances - and the misfortune has already happened.  It was a generous coincidence of a sunny afternoon (ok: pleasant, charming and alluring), but only a coincidence... This cursed, seductive and deceptive illusion of the first moment... this sudden rebellion of hope in your soul...  You … Continue reading In expectation


Guided by a mysterious will of coincidence; I walked once again in the quiet, sleepy darkness of your street.  Here (on this old, dilapidated wooden bench, under the black canopy of the chestnut tree), not far from your closed window: a usual ritual of farewell: Hesitancy in your heavy voice and a weak, almost whispering: see you. Strange... At … Continue reading Strange


In the shreds  from the guilt, remorse, and humility, in the tired hour of  expelled, Alone, helpless and  hopeful, in front of cold shadow of your indifference, With carefully collected, precious memories, in sorrowful, trembling heart, In closed circles of your coal-black pupils, a flicker, a glimmer of forgiveness - I seek.


The empty room. The twin terrors of repent and remembrances.  Or: silent, stubborn march of le passé.  And therefore restlessness. These writing: to coin words, recalling... like at distant mild, bluish Sunday evening in the solitary hours of the Cypress; near the river. ...pleasant taste of peace and serenity  in seven pronounced words: ...strange, why are evenings … Continue reading Goodbye