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Strange cold
That year’s cold was strange Our thoughts were frozen Our eyes white washed…We started fearing our own cold questions Some elders felt necessaryThat more of us must burn as wood-stockUntil the cold is goneAnd dissenting voices were silenced We kept burning our own kindIt reached a point when ‘Our words grasped each other for warmthAnd suddenly started to rhyme…’This year we feel the same coldPeople are burning as wood stockAnd words are dreaming to rhyme again together…November 2023On wars happening around us.
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Ode to unanswered questions
Today I want to celebrate those unanswered questions we all live within us. (Because no matter how convincing the answers we find along the way , we just don’t want to believe in them) Questions, that transform themselves from naive desires of moths on fire to distant dreams of snow laden birch trees to destinies entwined beyond space and time beyond the ideas of heavens and hell… these unanswered questions tie our past and future sometimes surpassing generations flying within us like Siberian cranes with endless wings on calm lands in troublous skies patiently determined covering thousands of miles to reach their summer pastures only to fly back again all…
