When sighs are hypnotized by sorrow
Happy moments you need to borrow
From a little child or from a bird
Who has the wild freedom of soul: stirred!

Written soul is called poetry

Wings can only fly
as long as the bird flies
Soul blackens when you
put on vestment of lies
White candle wax cries
for ignitable wick
Jealous people burn
to make your heart feel sick

Death is buried there into death
Hunger strikes on its own last breath
No spine to shiver, no heart talks
At life’s craving poverty mocks

From the poem 'Exhumation

Every known thing used to be unknown
And every rock could become a stone
Someday nature will have to atone
When soul sees dead flesh leaving the bone

Every morning
before the birds start
trilling me their stories,
I give birth to a new love
through my same old heart
when a lake’s placidity
finds life in the swans breath
Only for you...

From the poem 'Only For You