Tonight...

Tonight is my night, 

my toughts,

my fears, 

my joys.

I'm different by day,

by night I console

with my shadow.

Will I feel better

tomorrow, 

having spent the night

all alone.

Who cares what I feel,

at times I don't care myself.

I write words following words,

pages are full of words,

I, myself can't understand.

Do I dream, sure like everyone,

do I scream - sure people do it.

Do I love - who knows because

I do not know about love.

My stony heart does not bleed,

my eyes do not see,

but my lips are the joy 

of HE who comes and kiss them

daily.  

I wander why since tonight I'm

feeling like a cold stone...

The resting angels

In my continuous search on statues
I have seen some gorgeous ones,
let it be new ones or old ones,
in clay or bronze, colored or
discolored by time, but in reality
the one that hit me hard with 
shear beauty was a very small angel
sitting on a piece of broken cement
by unknown person who did not 
have anything better to do, this
little statue was located in a huge
section of a great cemetery when
rest babies that have not seen the
light of the day, felt the wind on
their tiny faces or the arms of
loving parents.  This nagged me for
a few days and wandered how I 
was going to let the world know,
that Angels on tiny graves are to 
be admired and cherished for their
meaning on a piece of cement or 
a tiny grave. 

To my friend

A friend (he or a she)  is the most valuable
possession one can have.
It will listen to my follies or cry
with me, he will hold my hand
or just rest his head on my stiff
shoulder.  He might not understand
my ranting but he will take away my
pain or anger and make it his.
He can stand and hold me when
I'm week or bring me back to earth
when I'm flying to high.
Oh dear friend who stands at my side
and counts the stars with me so that I
don't loose myself in sorrow, wiping
my tears one by one just so that I do not
smudge my mask.
He will freeze to the bones and won't
say or rush me into a warm place while
I'm playing around a poorly lit road,
he just wait for my sense to come back
and then and only then he will follow
me, put me to bed and stand guard
for fear of leaving him alone, we are
a pair and pairs are there until the end....

PS: I lost my friend today to a high hand
that came, taking him in another world
were I hope friendship is available.

Sun last cries

The sun and it's last cry
over the valley it lies.
He is tired of running
from mountain to mountain
never meeting a place to
lie down.
Clouds are his friend
following him in his run,
he hides in darkest moments,
or shines along the blue
skies.
Trees don't stop him or
least of all they accompany
him.  When in the valley is
reaches he warms up the soil
and cold springs, to timidity
of the fragile mountain flower
grows and sways always turning
towards the great ball up
on the mountain tops.
Strong features creates the
most fantastic shadows on the
flanks of rocky hills or break
through cottony clouds to give
light at the opposite side of
the world.
Let the sun dance and freely
joyride the world at his feet
I would join him if I was a
sun myself....