Ithaca

Navigating in a garden

That used to be

Well known to me

I realized

That I actually

Was a stranger

All the time

A Fake Life

To live without an income

Is to live in the shadow

Of other people’s money

Their will and their whim

Moves you around like

A puppet

The shame is great enough

To kill you, through you

In front of a train or tram

Instead you hide

Building a fake identity

That eventually becomes

What you are

Not solving, just hiding

Because the shame

Is so great

Where to start from that?

Endnotes to Life

Life is changing

A continuous process

A struggle against

The forces that wants

You to perish

The people who

Wants to maim you

Eventually

In the end of the day

You end up

Different and

In a completely

Different place

Middle of the Bridge

The bus drives slowly

On the bridge over the river

Frozen since long time

Life moves slowly in the cold

But it moves even in the most

Adversarial conditions the strife to survive

Slowly the evolution takes place one winter

At the time, breaking down what can’t hide

From the Eternal cold in this northern town

Melting

Fading away into an

Unknown landscape

Traveling to a distant

Place, filled with trees, snow

And strange people

It is strange how different

A city can be. Everything is

Vide spatial visible from

Far away

Familiar and yet different

Whom will I be

When I transformed?

A butterfly or a stone

Maybe an enlighten Buddha

Maybe a madman in rugged cloths

This is not me, this is not you

And still unmistakably it is

Falling Down To Reality

Meeting the unknown

Outside the bounds

Of reality and rationality

Outside myself

When I is more than me

When I is not me

Above myself

Inside myself but still not settled

After this

I fell down to reality

Woke up in a bar

Like some drunk foul

In a poem by a Sufi mystic

Living in his lonely desert

Like me

Me

What is my true self

Do I got any self

At all?

I don’t know

Anymore

Maybe I am on the wrong track

Maybe I am on the right track

Maybe I am a prisoner of this place

Maybe I am a prisoner of that place

Maybe I am a prisoner of all my things and aspirations?

Losing clues

Losing me

Am I ?

Something or Nothing