Author, poet, songwriter, psychologist, messenger

In this rest of semi-guiltless coma, I conceal myself within the armour of a facade-enchanted world. Oh, phone rings . . .! The second face is back in place.

Doesn’t the closed bud, in its season, show its magnificent fate! Isn’t it sometimes the delay which is the masqueraded bliss? And the patient waiting that makes the best of meals! Or that forced rest that allows the wound to heal!

Standing blindly at that crossroads, shifting my head as a marionette right and left—hoping my Master will show me the green light. Kneeling, dependently, in the midst of passage— sleepwalking hoping for a better trance

But cut—Angels, questions, please: Do you ever weep?! Do you ever have burden and grief?! Or did God give you that zenith belief? Will you give me an example of that heavenly leap?!

Let go now, and pray for what’s good. That’s the life you should have, happy to be you should. Don’t say: Ah, only if I could! All is possible—believe in the incredible—you’ll see the invisible—yes, you would.

…For what you did in the dark! Yes, that deed. So, why not donate the dime? The promoting king, I don’t deny, I played his role on a stage of guilt. My blindness was a gnashing master! Vainly built!

Suddenly we fall in a moment of prime as a garment to the ground; robbed of a dignified goodbye, with astonished eyes pervaded with the one question—did I deserve to live or die?

It’s good to be the ball in the cannon, you’re a big hit, you rule! The death of many for the king— He has to win the chess match, enemies have to die. It’s a good cause! For the people! It can’t be cruel!

Now hit the road but not on my feet. How I’ve had it with your deceit!.../ In tears I sensed him leave. He knew better not to come back, and I knew better not to look back.

What’s that stillness?! What’s that sound? Is it silence?! That drives me to numbness? With no ground! What’s that game?! Is it my mind? Going insane?! What’s that question?! Who am I?! That old refrain—In vain, in vain.