Omnipotent oneness of God, marked by the following five-star root. Binary equation, algebraic irrational quantity, divine proportion, exact number. Mystical value of the natural order physic’s key, and the cosmos, immeasurable trinity, solar system, “Kepler’s” precious jewel. Angle unity and pentagram, Vitruvian Man, stellar relationship; decagon and dodecahedron. Ten isosceles triangles
I kiss you before the door through which you departed, My son. I wander the streets you once walked Quietly, Without a sound, I wander, my son. I turn toward every single noise, Thinking perhaps you have returned. My gaze is locked, My eyes fixed on the outside Bring the key, my son! I want
At each blue window I look for the sky of your smile. You certainly see me from far away like when I used to play in the yard and you looked out to tell me to come back. I don’t hear your voice anymore but I breathe this boundless silence which day after day does
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In any given moment, in the beginning and in the end, in the measure of a life time, downcast by full sorrow, we remain without tomorrow or principle, faded in age and distance, plundered by untruths, only able to gather sand in some recreation ground, drawing lines through the dust that bears our understanding, pretending
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From imploding sky to the upturned stone from bare earth to the bleached bone I sought the traces of eternity… but the ubiquity of sin time’s passion and destiny’s grin turned tear to pebble blood to seeping gold prodigal son to a timeless rebel and I drift from ancestral betrayal to the alchemist’s mold like
When I set off to the world And put on the big shoes The ones where soil from my flower garden A seed from my orchard And young unharvested wheat Can be put in I wrap myself with the sun of my people I turn once again On the borders between the worlds
For all those in leaden winter coats even in Spring-time For the signposts of near madness For unadopted children of fluttering moments misplaced inside the wind’s locks wiping out this puppet theatre Chopin is a perfect drape of rise and fall A conciliatory epilogue for a sore day for those who lean on dubious quavering
Chopin, poetry and hope Read More »
Sometimes I wander back to days of yore, Yet something slows my pace, I feel it sore, My grandpa’s steps, though now in heavenly air, His loving gaze still lingers, I’m aware. When I was just a child, adored and dear, endearing terms would reach my eager ear, Through tearful eyes, I see those
There is a spice, beyond compare, Sprinkle it on any dish, with flair! Not sold for money, nor bound by time It lasts forever, its flavour sublime! You cannot find it in shops, or order Although everyone needs it, like air, or water! Sometimes, all you need is a drop And sometimes an entire
are smooth and giving, as if developed to face our world by the voice of developer in the age of childhood magic by the caressing of the stabilizer which will not allow the face to darken and the picture to disappear. Th e faces on the hundred-year old photographs face the lens of the camera
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