~secret sorrow~
your searching eyes met with mine locked in a gaze i'll remember for days sad brown eyes i feel your pain for although you hide they say so much
sad brown eyes they cannot hide a light in your eyes that shines when you smile it lights up the gloom and i know now that i don't know much but i wish that you'll be happy
all i'll give for your smile

  i've wished you joy since first i saw you

joy is...
seeing that whiteness of wings in your mouth
that i wish will never subside


  the rainbow in a black bin

hope for the fallen
lie in the bird nest ferns
catchers in the tree of life
silently recieving the fallen crown
turning brown to green again
whose to say such new life is lowly?
some spend their whole lives
searching for their rainbow in vain
i found mine in a black plastic trash bin
while washing it out on a sunny day
touching that misty rainbow ---
happiness no pot of gold can buy
simple joy i find so complex to enjoy
such is the irony of my life

skip a turn and you never return


  big red strawberry farm




This post and this world. non of it makes sense.



she turned to say something but her words were lost in the camera


  pink mozart

Mozart is pink. fluffy fluffy love. innocent and pure.
Beethoven is blue. calm like cloudless skies. waves of joy from raging seas.
Rachmonioff is red. the peaks and depths of love. sad yet passionate. don't stop believing.
Debussy is purple. playful yet serene. pale yet beautiful. a frail hope but hard to kill.
Schubert is amber. brights of orange and mellows of yellow. stops and gos in life one must bravely face. bliss and happiness awaits.
Brahms is golden. fleeting autumn leaves and everlasting silver birches.
Schumann is green. a glimpse of neverland. nature's youth and grace.
Chopin is white. sparkling furry towards the complexities of life. simplicity that encompasses all.

there is just one melody. wistfully wistfully. as if to sing.
lalalalala.


  animal machines

Hysteria is being in a bus interchange on a sleep deprived morning
the dead chill and stillness of the air conditioning
and the sound of high heels
deafening thuds on cold hard concrete drowning out the soft morning
thousands and thousands of thuds
differing in tone and frequencies without order nor rhythm
echoing off the hallow walls
striking at the back of my sore head
like a bad hangover on a working monday
from a cocktail of noisy heels
straight to the head
why must people wear high heels?
they personify this crazy world
when they run and wobble after buses with unsightly gaits

We are prisoners of this city
'sadness is only the start of the weight we carry
as the free man never thinks of escape
i find different exits but the walls never fall
and time becomes my medusa
turning me to stone
a shell as spiraled as
a dream' - the thread my sanity hangs by

atlas: "freedom is a country that does not exist."
heracles: "it's home if home is where you want to be."
now zeus was anxious for real heroes don't think
and human kind continues in ignorance because knowledge destroys them

"without really seeing them he was staring at the faint stars still swimming in the damp sky"


  of capybaras and carrots

its bright orange colour reflects its goodness
and you feel its semi rough texture
while gripping it firmly with your hand
you then hear the crisp sound produced
when sharpened steel slices through its turgid body
now faster now slower
while a slight tangy scent slowly tingles your senses
all these followed by the sound of raindrops on the rooftop
only more hollow as the diced pieces
hurried down the sides of the container
while imaginary echoes reverberate the kitchen walls

P.S. it was once shown that capybaras prefer sweet potato or tapioca over corn or carrots


  moonlight sonata

According to wikipedia, quasi una fantasia
better known as moonlight sonata was composed
as a dedication to his pupil, then 17 year old
Countess Giulietta Guicciardi
with whom Beethoven was or had been in love
The name moonlight Sonata derives from a description
of the first movement by poet Ludwig Rellstab,
who compared it to moonlight shining upon Lake Lucerne

In another saying, Beethoven composed the moonlight sonata
for a little blind girl who asked him what the moon looks like
I like this latter saying
you'll understand if you close your eyes and listen to this piano piece
that only the little blind girl who is not limited by sight
has seen the true beauty of the moon

"the man was not really a poet but surely he was a poem
and even the moon is only poetic because there is a man in the moon"

a deeper
shade of
blue