pronto existential sau cum stergi timpul de praf

priveam la o bucata de hartie incarcata de ganduri asternute de o mana tremuranda candva, in acel trecut, in acea clipa suspendata de franghia vietii... o urma de cerneala stearsa cu fiecare secunda de timp, cu fiecare fir de praf ... Da, timpul ne masoara destramarea dar praful ... praful ce se asterne in urma timpului pare sa se adune din ce in ce mai mult.... mai intai acopera ochii, apoi mintea, si in final inima. De fapt, drama noastra nu e numai lupta cu timpul ... ci si cu praful ce ne acopera viata. Nu ne mai bucuram la fel de lumina, de natura, de libertate, de iubire. Fiecare secunda pare sa micsoreze mai mult cutia existentei noastre, rutina pe care o purtam zi de zi; adevarul e ca ne prafuim ... si nu facem nimic sa indepartam cortina ce ne desparte de viata...

made to love :) .. enjoy

"Made To Love"

The dream is fading, now I'm staring at the door
I know its over cause my feet have hit the cold floor
Check my reflection, I ain't feelin what I see
It's no mystery
Whatever happened to a passion I could live for
What became of the flame that made me feel more
And when did I forget that...

I was made to love you
I was made to find you
I was made just for you
Made to adore you
I was made to love
And be loved by you
You were here before me
You were waiting on me
And you said you'd keep me
Never would you leave me I was made to love
and be loved by you

The dream's alive with my eyes opened wide
Back in the ring you've got me swinging for the grand prize
I feel the haters spittin vapors on my dreams
But I still believe
I'm reachin out, reachin up, reachin over
I feel a breeze cover me called Jehovah
And daddy I'm on my way
Cause I was made to love...

I was made to love you...

Never would you leave me I was made to love
and be loved by you

let it be....

there will be an answer... let it be :)

supergirls don't cry...

it hurts i know... and deep inside it is fear that fills up my heart. they say I'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry... and yet...

it's confusion that still sorrounds me like the morning mist high on the mountains ... conducting an orchestra of feelings to play a song that echoes in my mind... it haunts me ...
don't know why I'm waiting still ... waiting... like always ...
tearing apart the inner world ...the eternal battle between yes and no, between the should i stay or should I go ...

echo...?

....

rasuna ecoul pasilor pierduti in noapte, si ploaia nu mai vrea sa acopere lacrimile ce inunda inimi agatate de suflet... E ciudat si neinteles ... poate de prea multa teama s-a ascuns luna dupa nori ... asteapta si ea...

despre...suflet si om

Omul e cautarea iesirii din labirint...

se-mpletesc in ochii tai picurii de ploaie
sunete se scurg din vis
si aluneca printre degete de suflet
se risipesc ca nisipul purtat de vant in scoici...
adie un zvon de speranta peste chipurile noastre
atarna intr-un colt o enigma cuibarita intr-un zambet sters...
doar inima adormita pulseaza in noi viata,
un fir de ata intins printre haine zdrentuite de vreme
Suntem un sifonier in care ne-am atarnat sufletul ... si apoi l-am acoperit cu de toate...
inca il acoperim .. mai aruncam cate-un palton de indoiala,
cate-o camasa rupta,
il peticim cu intristari, si manie
si-asa se asterne praful peste suflet...peste ochi...
si doar picurii de ploaie, sunete ratacite de vis
se-nfiripa in ochii tai
alunecand pe ata de viata ... leganat de timp
in sufletul meu.

Dey

si restul e tacere...

Despre tacere si drama cuvantului ... sau necuvintele, despre Blaga, despre Stanescu, despre existenta si neexistenta.... despre toate canta lumina, poezia... timpul zilelor de ianuarie.

Spunea cineva ca existenta e o suma de drame. Si poetul din dorinta de a sustrage realitatii ostile apeleaza la cuvant, dar pana si cuvantul isi are propria drama, incapacitatea de cumula in el tot vartejul de sentimente ce incearca sufletul uman. Si-asa tacerea ramane glasul cel mai puternic... sunetul razelor de luna, zgomotul asurzitor al privirilor, tremurul infrigurat...toate, toate raman in tacere.

Silence

Edgar Lee Masters



I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea,
And the silence of the city when it pauses,
And the silence of a man and a maid,
And the silence of the sick
When their eyes roam about the room.
And I ask: For the depths
Of what use is language?
A beast of the field moans a few times
When death takes its young.
And we are voiceless in the presence of realities -
We cannot speak.


A curious boy asks an old soldier
Sitting in front of the grocery store,
"How did you lose your leg?"
And the old soldier is struck with silence,
Or his mind flies away
Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg,
It comes back jocosely
And he says, "A bear bit it off."
And the boy wonders, while the old soldier
Dumbly, feebly lives over
The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon,
The shrieks of the slain,
And himself lying on the ground,
And the hospital surgeons, the knives,
And the long days in bed.
But if he could describe it all
He would be an artist.
But if he were an artist there would be deeper wounds
Which he could not describe.

There is the silence of a great hatred,
And the silence of a great love,
And the silence of an embittered friendship.
There is the silence of a spiritual crisis,
Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured,
Comes with visions not to be uttered Into a realm of higher life.
There is the silence of defeat.
There is the silence of those unjustly punished
And the silence of the dying whose hand
Suddenly grips yours.
There is the silence between father and son,
When the father cannot explain his life,
Even though he be misunderstood for it.

There is the silence that comes between husband and wife.
There is the silence of those who have failed;
And the vast silence that covers
Broken nations and vanquished leaders.
There is the silence of Lincoln,
Thinking of the poverty of his youth.
And the silence of Napoleon
After Waterloo.
And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc
Saying amid the flames, "Blessed Jesus" -
Revealing in two words all sorrows, all hope.
And there is the silence of age,
Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it
In words intelligible to those who have not lived
The great range of life.

And there is the silence of the dead.
If we who are in life cannot speak
Of profound experiences,
Why do you marvel that the dead
Do not tell you of death?
Their silence shall be interpreted
As we approach them.