There are doors

Instead of cursing the darkness I will write one poem with one letter, But the language has been out of action For a thousand years And the letters are in an eternal strike. *

The half-lighted rooms Wait the total darkness every night Or a lightning bolt burns everything. *

I will lie down with my exhausted body On the relaxing bed of exile. Before I fall asleep I knock on the door of the dream seven times. Maybe it could fix my life Which has been destroyed by time Seventy times in a legendary success. *

When the mood of the poem changes In less than a minute To get darkened After it has been as clean as a mirror. The poet does not know what to do: Does he cry or laugh or break the mirror? *

Love is a very old joke.

You should laugh or pretend to laugh Whenever you hear it So that time does not become angry with you Throwing more ash or the letters of ash On your poem. *

Thank you, Who I do not know your name And I will not know Because you made me a poet With your heart that looks like a black rainbow, Your shaking nakedness And your hellish kisses. *

The door was suddenly opened. The letter came out of the poem absent-minded, Hallucinating, Grumbling And laughing with tearing eyes.

If the sea wakes up from its sleep

The sea said to me once: I am in love. I wanted to ask it: Why? But I wept. *

I am afraid to go to ask the sea. It has been half a century since we parted. The heart of the sea is large, But it does not love the strange questions