jbkaria, 16 october 2012
I should kick you out from my home,
but you left me by
all drafts and notes of your dreams
yet i am not so bad
at th moment
For now i don't assault the coaches
which transport your trouble
the few match-with which gains seconds
I just wish cicadas would return and flourish
see the growth of moths
watering gruff peasants
and the whole circus campaign
What can I do to a city without doors?
every corner can hide another yourself
a trap of your sighs
a sweetness that you forgot on the train
How do you live in the gingerbread house?
Reconstruct it whenever
you invites emotional cannibals to eat you
simple preposition of your disagreement
Come to celebrate your boredom
is the drain of dissatisfaction
tends to kidnap the possibilities at hand,
blinds before meals and on an empty stomach,
but it is only a stimulus that does you not yet know
I would like to only see the cicadas flourish
while you take away the notes of your dreams
jbkaria, 28 may 2012
Have you seen the number of years that I carry in your pockets?
They are the branches of an transparent oak
the sugar's beaches on the London smoke
the explanation for life that runs behind the death
sad Malgorzata
punished for having smiled at the glass
where only you could fill up jugs of bitter honey
along with hundreds of trunks that do not fall for inventions
sad Malgorzata
I remember you only now
sinning to know ya
jbkaria, 28 may 2012
I fly to win
complacency by the unhealthy for your Sunday
galleys full of innocence in black and white
from the slits of my cell walking
I can contemplate your savings to live
not believe you're unable to smile
I fly for a living
between the moths of August
they simply run away from the light
looking for the shadow
I flee to smile
against white plaster walls
who insist on drawing my favorite boards
with a single word
"back to us"
I fly to win
what I wear in like a grail of fire
phoenix and the martyrdom of my fingers
complacent incite revolution
for a desire
jbkaria, 24 may 2012
And now let me flow along your back
let me in
touching your skin as if I were the wind
feel as tight as a drum skin
a magnificent tool
a sound and harmony
ready to be played
compose works of darkness and desire
Breathe in the flavor of kisses
blind to the mute will
all you do is run a dance
fireflies explode from your hair
oozing understated seduction
Are you a canvas as always
and I am a shy artist
wanting to pretend
insinuated cheating
You are my greatest work
Just whisper at the end of the journey
the discovery of hidden lands
small oasis of pleasure imploded
And so those ever come to worship at a later
becomes liquid fire
Drown the reality around
and burning may spread your sacred inhibitions
Have I ever mentioned how much you're beautiful
When you let go in violation of your belief?
As you know even screaming into the kingdom of your fears?
And now everything disappears
you're just a shadow formed by the "I"
do not see but feel
but are not looking
creep and finding the discovery of yourself
rediscover dormant havens
they sing praises to your liking
Pinch each of your rope
with overwhelming research
ready and you run to one side of sensations surprised
Have you looked at this time
and I found my self
Go up to see you in a sky jet
Up to be star and sun
a wilderness teeming with half-open mouths
Lips that feed poor
bodies that tend
It is all your wonderful rediscovery
my new Thule.
jbkaria, 19 april 2012
As small spheres of opaque glass
I Live sweeping the ashes
eruptions of illusions
from every hungry look they call celebrated
The joke is on disused longings of a closed-book story
while only a few dwarf
bordering on the parables of a delightful old pagan feel
The curtain is let down a precipice on which
transform the wind into little desire to taste ourself
Becoming so '
no people
but actors
the part of themselves in a colored robe hypocrisy
Be happy with what you have
might make you
something humanly unbearable
jbkaria, 27 february 2012
The last breath
on a marble silence
inside the wind that flow thru my finger
on the opposite side
of the everyday corner
where the suspect
cover with dust
the mills of our farming
Another season and we will be cut
under the judgenment of this human suicide
jbkaria, 11 february 2012
If I Had denied the gesture
which becomes a prayer movements
I could understand the listless image
There are not gestures
to remember with tombstones
giving the meter of love
Are little senseless century attentions
Repeated till exhaustion
Are those gestures
that day by day
are judged
from my love.
Jb Karia
jbkaria, 10 february 2012
Without a cry
Without a memory of a perfume
A trail of glass and caresses
leading to the last action
Violent in it's infinite sweetness
Without wings and without wisps
getting lost in the ruined nights
looking for a book
or a drop of dew
in which we can intoxicate our hands
I allow myself to have you
as always on a fragile pavement
Purple ice
Schoolboys Automations
before killing
like a good samaritan
this look
that i should give to you
jbkaria, 10 february 2012
It snow on the tought's moral
On a vanity of a stray dog
that sniffing the road
We use different spices
for each cannibal
that we carry around
losing ourself
In the crowd of our more worst excuse
jbkaria, 7 february 2012
I want a Nobel prize for patience
and like me at all those who see clearly
on the greater glory
fighting the perverse dreams
of human selfishness
I want a statue in the square
telling the resistance
of every single human being
against the injustices and follies
I want a commemorative plaque
for fathers and mothers who believe in children
a square dedicated to mature love
a path to the ghettos of happiness'
I want that world to remember
not only the illustrious unknown
but also the dust that covers the world
Want anyone to not forget a single gesture
done without interest
Every second it happens
and do not care, only the victim
I want that we should not fear to love
but you just play to the end
and for better or for worse
we accept the freedom of others' choice
without claiming
it seems that others are like us.
hang a prayer
At each location
where it happened
a fact not to be forgotten
no matter how small
it will resonate 'as a crash
in the hopes of dust
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