sonata for the oboe and piano
like a bird do I pass through life’s circle
someone- a remorse, maybe
running after my shadow- a hungry clucking hen picking the minutes from the dial
quicklier, quicklier
it may, by passing, reach me
the images of some trivial picture staying behind…
cigarette smoke
hasty profiles
tossing about… memories, mixing ground prayal.

the violinist lady turning the page…


*

passages
the silence peel covers muddy ways
the colours of forgiveness flowing with angel whispers,

thought flight
in the wonder scales they ask for mercy
the scaffold knife is stuck at its half
between life and death
the witnesses and judges are looking behind the lattices
who considers himself free
that may throw the stones…!

caught between the traffic signs, that forbide the station
the oboe punctions the pain sincope.

is it worth reliving?
who knows, maybe in another context, it may have a different colour, a different smell, a different look.

*


the percutionist striking the bells…

from behind the fence you can hear the life scream – unbound by desires
louder and louder, it strikes in the torace.

other births struggling in the light snowfalls
other spreading of strives on the slopes

the desperate fear
is catching the window frame
drawing a circle on the window eternal steps towards the island in the middle of the sun,
the clucking hen charming away

this time I am not afraid of the darkness!
I am free!