O pale, austere moon,
haughty beauty ...
what do we know of love,
or duty?
I am grateful for you
Because you are the one
That keeps me
Alive here on earth
Every single
And I also know that
Life is precious
Also I never gamble with my life
Once
Because I have no right to do that
Also I never overdose on my
Medication
Because that is a dangerous thing
To do
Yes father I never sleep in during the day
Because I feel that I will wasting a day
When I can be walking in the park
First thing in the morning
Parlaq ekran, ulduzlu şans,
Burda başlayır oyun və rəqs.
Slotlar dönür, ümid yanır,
Qələbə hər ürəyi qanadlandırır.
Rulət, poker, idman bahisi —
Hamısı sənin sehrli səsi.
Pin-Up-AZ, sən bir dünyasan,
Azartla dolu hər bir an!
“Are there mirrors in that grey reflective stone sunken well
?
There is really no escaping then is it.”
Even the jagged slabs seem to have a roundness, an elliptical evenness.”
Is my mirroresque mirage being inducted?
The sombre but only fleeting
ephemeral ponderousness of central character in this plot’s mind.
Theodore with elfish smirk being reflected back in a whimsical wry comic capture of all his facial features.
The grin, the smirk the rivulets on the chin had this ricochet effect.
Dedication
Meditations on a new creation.
New visions, new sensations.
Supplications of new patience.
All it took was dedication.
Saving even the pagans,
Wicked to holy, divine translation.
Motivation for times changing,
Open with reality—communication
This is my dedication.
We bloomed where silence used to sleep,
Two hearts in thaw, no need to speak—
A glance, a spark, a breath between,
And time stood still in shades of green.
Our laughter spilled like April rain,
Soft petals opening through pain.
Too young to name what we became,
Yet old enough to burn like flame.
Now every breeze recalls your name—
The spring of us, still wild, untamed.
You stole a piece of me.
Absorbed in my own art
as you worked yours,
I never felt your skilful fingers
pick the pocket of my soul.
Nor did I feel the loss
at first, but when I saw her,
motionless and yet alive, within
the single moment you carved out for her,
I knew that you had plucked
some morsel of myself to let her live.
You did not ask,
nor, had you done so,
would I have given what you took.
But time brings forgiveness.
My lace has rotted. These hands,
this hair, this flesh – and yours – are dust.
You are grounded
Here on holy ground
The leaves of the trees
Are floating in the water
Because there are trees
Near the lake that my Father
Made with his holy hands
Many years ago
And also the birds are now resting on the trees
Branch
I spend the morning here on the lake
First thing in the morning
And there are nobody else
At this time of the day
Also it it still very cold near the lake
I brought with me my spring jacket
I know I will be just fine
It will warm up by lunch time
And there will be crowded
I personally hate crowds