Flashes of lights of rushing cars,

Tired eyes of street lamps rooted in place,

Pale shine of the moon and glittering stars

Draw figures of humans and ghosts out of space;


In the night I forget if I’m one or the other;

I don’t speak, I don’t touch, I don’t dream, I don’t hurt –

Simply follow the lights, and imagine that somehow

I will come to the sun at the end of the road;


If I’m human, there I will be freed of my shadow,

Which either runs too fast or crawls, heavy and slow;

Only there I will learn what it’s like to be happy

When my flesh and my mind burn down to an unknown;


And if I am a ghost, I will see why I always

Have been callous and cold, and somebody to fear;

I will see what the world sees with the sun as my mirror –

A storm cloud in the sky ripped to shreds by the wind;


Screams of white lights of rushing cars,

Haunted eyes of street lamps rooted in place,

Quiet shine of the moon and shimmering stars

Draw figures of humans and ghosts out of space;


The scarse light of the night makes all figures look ghostly

But the sunrise will tell who is who, what is what,

So tonight I will walk along dark streets for hours

And till the very dawn believe whatever I want.

The Explorer

Please, forgive me, I have nothing to say –

Silence has become my permanent state;

I am absent from this feast in my name;

It’s been months since I have last seen my face;


I’ve been living in the desert too long,

Looking into things which I used to fear;

And you know, they have been looking at me,

And it scares me that they liked what they saw;


Please, forgive me for the cold of my hands –

It’s been years since they have felt human warmth;

Dry skin, tempered by black rocks and white storms,

Is the skin, I think, I never will shed;


Please, forgive the taste of salt on my lips,

The glow in my eyes when, on a sleepless night

I will look into the oceans inside

Which I dived in, and which dived into me;


Please, forgive me that I’m gone all the time

And that I can’t tell the stories I bring

In my chest; like dreams, I trap them within –

If I let them fly, I’ll turn into dust

The Cocoon










This night,

It hasn’t dressed me for the morning:

I’m still in a cocoon

Of interwoven blacks and blues


Staring at dawn,

I cannot feel daylight returning,

Or touching me –

It’s just a colour, of no use


To me,

A terribly disturbed spectator,

Watching an artist’s brush,

Envying him his muse


To me,

Self-tried and sentenced perpetrator,

Sharing the maze-like cell

With my self-righteous jury



I put my hands over my eyes and

I sew them up

With threads as strong as needles


I lock my nightmares

From the outside world within me:

They’ll be

The only things I see for years


I’ll write of them

And paint them with my blind hands;

One day

I’ll hear you ask me: ‘what is that?’


I won’t reply;

With monsters pushing through

My numb lips,

I’ll go to sleep in my cocoon instead

The Fifth Season

You asked for summer –

And it’s at your threshold,

In robes of burning leaves

Of dry, exhausted soil


Afraid of heat and draught,

You begged for autumn

And, crying rains, it came

To wail outside your door


Scared of its open wounds,

You called for winter

Who, like a blizzard, swift

All ice, distress and cold,


Appeared, but it was spring

You thought you wanted:

Capricious, lukewarm, shy

It came, but you recoiled


You locked your home,

Inventing a fifth season,

Which looked like summer,

Smelled like autumn herbs,


Which had the grace

And fierceness of a winter

And laughed, like spring,

At your uncanny jokes

My Dear Hades

I had a dream that life was all around me

Its color – blue, its texture – soft and warm

And all my being drowned in quiet wonder,

I felt my mind at peace; I turned into a storm


Yet, where I stand awake there is no color

The eyes staring at me are made of glass and cold

The endlessly unwinding roads, the swarm of voices

Lead nowhere, speak of nothing – are the world


Or is this hell? And one could never live here?

How dare one stay alive among the dead?

One couldn’t breathe the poison of oblivion

But there is nothing here to breathe instead


My mind is gone; it’s diving in the abyss

It dug out, filled with love and hid in time

I do not want it back; I don’t believe I need it:

I am in hell and I don’t want to think of why