On a bench, a painted word drops down on a leaf By a leaf, a silent touch lifts an eye above the head Inside a head, a good thought spinning to slips aside One step aside, a bad feeling bouncing in the chest Deep inside the chest, a new word waiting to paint a heart Stuck in a heart, a painted letter still rest on a bench
From a crack in the street, grew a flower with the aim of eternal life. The asphalt that covered playgrounds and cycling paths was surrounded by concrete houses. He grew up beyond all the fine flower arrangements and the road was never straight. The road that led him forward was crooked and lined with obstacles and resistance. The acquisition, which was governed by inheritance and obligation, was the predetermined course. Nothing went as wrong as the credible thesis – a theory failed. With death as a close visitor, the life got a second chance. From an asphalt flower to a victim after a deadly journey under a vehicle, the wounded plant rised against all odds. From a course change to discourse in the academic flower box, new seeds where spread. Nectar that has always been there was suffocated due to uncertainty. The survivor of the working-class society became a conqueror of dual bachelor’s degree. The conquest is unique in the collection of familiar flowers. Dramatized acting on stage became plant nutrient to the root. The strength of memorizing the words in the script, became the flower’s power on the stage. Predisposition for artistic analysis is the strength that strengthens the stem. Water and sun are mixed with culture that breathes over the leaves. The pot of poetry will be filled to the brim with hungry poems to feed a starving poet. Words and emotions are fed with stanzas and verses from the middle of the soul The damaged flower survived a serious car accident (this day 41 years ago) and he is still in bloom.
I have been there before, near an open end when all choices are hidden in the trees. I followed the same path firmly in the opposite direction, when a line was drawn under the ground of eternity. Beyond the light, far from all coincidences, a wisdom grew deep beneath the heap. I dug a ditch to finding a hope instead of plow forward in the right direction. In the end, I was on the same spot to look up, to stare down and be dazzled by the light in the front – out of conclusions.
Since 2012, I have written 299 poems, and this will be the 300th. What’s out there and what’s in here, is an interpretation of my poetry that has constantly moved from my inner feelings to beautiful and enlighteningthings I have seen outside and around me. It has and will perhaps be a journey between the light and the darkness. But in between there’s a force so strong as in the best moments can move the mountains, who are a part of the roller coaster in my life.
So this is my 300th poem
A tiny light, surrounds by the darkness, I feel Crushed life that sounds when emotions are real
Rays of the sun, walks in a motion, so bright Color of sensitive talks paints my hope, by night
A feeling of calm, plays alone when you can’t see An inner fight in days, a personal war for me
All bricks in the wall, sings a capella for deaf ears Dare to look, touch things, doing it, without fears
Barrels full of tears in a sad patrol, rest to store fears in rows, surrounded by it’s enemies in oak uniforms. Red wine in the color of spilled blood, survived the battle between the grief and the grapes. In frontline with shields, thin like the shells of the grapes, a bloodline is the line behind the enemy. The infantry still standing on the feet of the wine glasses, ready to fight for what they crying for. Deep down in a wine cellar, far from the sunlight, lies a grief, alone and missed by the survivors who refusing to leave them for the next harvest.