Poetry

Shared my solitude, gave me comfort, 
the road, my prelude to a long journey 
moved with me. 
 
Sensual saints had a break midway 
bolting the stars, when bruised arms 
were building the shelter. 
 
An offering to genius was not accepted 
cold blooded murder of a dream. 
Overnight my hair turned white 
a genuine tale was twisted. 
Absence of’me’ was not a meaning of death. 
I was learning to live. 
 
Can you tell me, what is time? 
The clocks are crazy, do not slow down, 
end was near without stopping, 
The spirit was moving through formless door. 
Everything was lost in space, the space 
and unfolding were becoming one. 
 
I was talking to prisnors of small gods 
a snuffed lamp, living voice and beasts.