The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Tuesday, May 6, 2008


I open my eyes and cannot see,
though feeling a body near.
Is it me?
Flashes of lights above me high,
the smell of death lingers by.
White room filled with calm and stillness,
warm and peaceful though quiet chillness.
For a moment feeling united and free,
this time I see a figure.
Again, is it me?
Unable to sense fear and sorrow,
dying to reach a hand to borrow.
I cannot run fast enough, fly nor shout,
confused what this feeling is all about.
Closing my eyes to blink once more,
only a second went by of beyond the door.
Amongst mankind, I am alive still living,
this time entirely, loving and forgiving.

Thursday, May 1, 2008


Raindrops falling
I cannot hear,
rejuvenating element,
birthing season of year.
Sparrows singing
yet still no sound,
only flashes of life
all around.
Figures weeping.
Why are they sad?
I am in silence,
at peace,
at last glad.
No more pollution,
I hear not any noise,
calmness and stillness
are in my poise.
Scent of flowers
in masses of dozens,
silhouettes familiar
even distant cousins.
Colour of black
so vivid and strong,
recognizing surroundings,
I must be wrong.
At least no more lies,
nor wars or hate,
enchanted silence
has met my fate,
as I walk again
through the iron gate.