Living every day as if the last one,
Hoping not for happiness, happy I am,
Craving for glory, not me,
Every moment more precious than the last one,
...
How short moments can be?
Long enough when happy they are?
Small when sad?
Do they follow us?
...
How many moments make a life?
If you live through the eternity,
Do you lose the moment?
Would you be able to forget or to remember?
...
Every night I am dreaming,
Of a poetry train,
Its wagons full of words,
Mating each other,
...
All poems have a beginning and an end.
Always!
But, I have decided this poem not to end.
Because endings are so sad!
All poems have a beginning and an end.
...
Every winter the roots seem fresher than the rest of the tree,
Like something deeper needs to be revealed,
And every spring the trees gain over their roots,
Exposing their virtues,
...
What night it was I can't recall,
When I met this bottle of wine,
And then poetry started flooding the deepest corners of my mind…
Until it found a gateway to my hand,
...