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Would dreams care a mountain chain
If we dare to cross them in vain
Just to walk hand-in-hand
To pass the restful strand
Like two ships in an harmonic rain,
Two wistful loners on the sand.
Each cosmic step we have taken
Each sleeping land we have waken
We wrote LOVE and let it go
For we have more blues than woe
And when blues satisfied our nights
Silence spoke more than our sights.
We praised the rain for the sad days
We raised, fell; found the glad ways-
Then found a reply for the word LOVE
In the beak of an old wise dove
We grew strong and waved goodbyes
For LOVE regarded more than our eyes.
Once upon a time, in the lands of Anatolia, there was a legend about a “Devil’s Table”. The place is now what is left from a volcano destruction occurred many centuries ago and a place where tourists go and visit the famous footprints –at least the image- in a cage and watch the beautiful sunset and have a sip of their tea or coffee maybe.
The legend I am about to tell is based not on the centuries ago, but near past.
Different kinds of people do go here each and every day. This is not even a question. But I went there yesterday and saw the picture. The choice of believing or not believing in my story is based upon you.
I thought I arrived forty or forty-five minutes before the sunset. There were tourists everywhere sitting and waiting, or visiting the famous “cage”. In the entry, there were people reading the legend written on a large book. Later, is about a bit of confusion. I was all alone with so many people around me and talking at the same time. My legs were aching, so I just sat in the first table I found. There were photographers, poets, writers, adventurers and roamers everywhere. Photographers were trying to be the first person to capture a very good photo. Poets and writers were trying to be the first to write the very best and have the most original idea. Adventurers were trying to be the first to discover things that others would only see in their dreams, so they were writing down notes. Some roamers were sleeping (...)
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When tender is the night, and the woods are deep
And the only light - as Orion's - piercing the dark,
Gazing a child in his sleep - child whomever he fears
He wishes he has gone, and left him to his sound sleep.
The river near is dark - not even dogs dare to bark -
And it's too far from any park - no wetness, no seep.
A child, who is left to a deathly sleep - still being mild
But the morn is far - too far to being left, way behind.
And Time! Oh Time! How dare you give a child
Endlessly sleep and those woods a languor that's oh so deep?
At dawn when life at woods again is dry,
And no reason is left to stay in the sky,
Orion takes care the child who now eternally sleeps,
The child sees someone - or something - dim:
A light - a palm that caresses him!
Me and my best friend have been on a summer holiday in France for four days now. Yeah, we are in Cannes – so far so good! We have been staying in a very cheap hotel which has a fantastic view of the sea. We were lucky to be able to find that cheap of a hotel with a view like this; because not each beach is this fine. So, this our forth day as I told – great sea, great girls, great activities. And, believe or not, I found French people very sweet and kind. Maybe because this is the Mediterranean part of the country.
However, the temperature was too high, that especially at noon it becomes impossible to move! We drank a bottle of vodka and we rested in our lounge, meanwhile it was about 2 pm. Then, I came up with this great –which I thought was great- idea of daydreaming with my friend, as I asked him:
“Hey, how about sharing our daydreams with each other? For example, where would you like to be even if you were anywhere?”
He thought a little while – then: “Does it necessarily have to be anywhere? I mean, I’m all right being here with you, man.”
“I just asked, you know. I’d like to know if there is any.” I said.
“Well… How about India? Man, I haven’t been there but I’d really love to. You know, the whole belief, the whole culture really excites me.”
“Kind of an interesting choice. Well, if you ask me, it definitely has to be St. Petersburg. There are so (...)
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Actually, one – it can be any – mountain was the toughest of all I had climbed throughout my life. It was once said that this had caused many climbers to die on their way. I don’t know; this mountain can be even my dream, our yours – I don’t know. But one thing I am sure of is that this was definitely the toughest.
I was climbing with a friend and a guide - whom he said he was the only person that could help me reach the top - for long hours. Still, all I could see were ferrets, lilies, ragworths and – my favourite, of course – rosebays. But this means nothing when you compare them with my high expectations.
The guide was keep telling me: “We’d better find a place where we can rest awhile.” “Look, it’s getting dark.” Or his typical saying: “Let’s camp. Look, we have everything here – we can continue tomorrow.” The fact was, maybe there would be no tomorrow to climb all the way back again – especially when this was about to end.
After I took a rest for maximal a minute, I started again. My legs were tired, but I couldn’t stop – no, not at all! But if only I had one wish, this should have been about my stamina – In terms of sports, I am lousy as hell - except swimming. But I have quite a lot of energy inside, and that I think was keeping me on track.
Anyway, my friend was getting tired, and our guide, as well. As they fell behind me, they were shouting: “Hey, how about resting our bones a bit?” I (...)
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Here am I, looking outside from the window sill. There are clouds in some parts of the sky. I wasn’t seeing them at all for days.
Man, last days were awful! I mean, extremely hot! Wish I was in Paris or somewhere – extremely hot weathers are not for me! Forget about me, what about those who have to work for long hours! Thankfully, I can smell the rain that is about to start in an hour. Crows are cocking loudly. There is no one outside, mainly because it’s Tuesday. And I, a young man at 21, doing nothing but thinking. Thinking maybe of what I am going to do for two weeks without seeing my very best friend. Story has not started yet, but you can tell at least I am trying to.
I woke up at an early hour. It was quarter to eight or something. There was playing jazz from my radio – I forgot to turn off the other night. I thought it was George Benson. I don’t know, it sounded like him. I am maybe not an artist or born with an incredible artistic talent, but I do love jazz and classical music. Man, how great and gentle they are. You can just sit or nap in your bed listening to them, and when it’s finished you can just simply pray for those beauties in life. For me, that is even more crucial. You know, I am a bit melancholic. Especially nowadays. I forget things, I sometimes do not do my chores, I sometimes feel like a man in vain. Just like a lake without fish – I don’t know where this came from.
I told you that I (...)
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Time—in whose arms we drown
Under the moon semi mauve
And the waves turn upside down
As we’re like a cloud and its rain;
One would crowd and one would drain.
Neither the bile of the moon
Nor the waves’ cause of swoon
Can mine the cloud
And imbibe the rain
No!—cause it would
Cause too much pain.
And I would rather pour each morn
Than to disappear when a ship horn.
I would probably be a child’s flute
Rather than being a master mute.
Life is but a dream -
A day-night scene -
As we're still waiting
To be waken by somebody.
Who steal our dreams
Or exploit our rhyme
Are anywhere, and living
On a cosmic time.
They come, we go.
They live, we dream.
We are - the dreamers -
Living to be seen.
Cause life is but a dream
That we dream on to live.
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I sometimes look at a pure beauty,
And I seek it above, that I can reach
Those touches of the brush, and feel it
Within my bluest sense and reddest desire.
I sometimes am mesmerized, by who
Create those blurs, and that Art;
I weep for joy, and that is why
It frees saddest cries, and showers.
I sometimes look at you, my Love,
And find you in timeless rednesses.
Finding you in a dream of mine
Is the sweetest of all the bluenesses.
Touches of a brush may have made
With Love, and are spiritualized.
But they find concreteness, with you,
My Love, and they're the only line
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Not once I’ve seen a gleam of light,
Not once I’ve felt the cooling wind;
But only one step towards the sight
Wakens my garden with a bitter mint.
Just the sight of the lively flowers
Can take my hours without a pause.
For I have been watching the towers
From a misty hill near my house.
I thought it must be someone near
Who said “no” to my darkest thoughts,
“She was and still is living, dear,
With you upon the snowdrops.”
The truth, I cannot answer
If it was whispered from my grounds,
But the voice seemed familiar
Like it was the quietness of the clouds.
