Forming the clay

Like life itself it is smooth

Flexible, dynamic

Built from earlier life

And minerals

Creating and destroying

Collapsing, building

Whatever we make

Out of it

Can we ever be free

From matter and nature?

Growing Up

Chaos and semi total attention

Never peace just a lot of desires

Demands, crying and screaming

That is what is like to grow up

When we teach them that


Reflecting the parents narcissistic nature

Creating that beautiful wheel of Karma

Spinning round and round

In eternity until the almighty had

Enough and destroys it all


The End

The final accord

An Ultimate solution to avoid

Conflict abstaining from most of the

Things that are important

Compromising my life away

Long gone memory of another life

When freedom were more than

A fantasy, a chimera in the desert

Being Free

My prison is my freedom

Things are getting worse and worse

But here I am in the middle of it

It demands my whole being

I am looked in darkness

Dwelling among all the things

That has to be done and learned

I am sorry for this

But happy in the same time

This is me being free

In my own created prison

The Words

I have no hope and no fear

Just a feeling of being free

Free like Kazantzakis

Reading the writings on the dirty wall

Long time ago in Heraklion, Crete

A game of words

Leading to this conclusion

Still so tempting for

The tired mind

The Flight of the Swallow

Freedom is a curious thing

Hard to define

Seeking its root

In a mixture of feeling and reason

Time passes quickly

Technology and the many wars

Reduces what it could be or enhance it

Laws and our perceptions

Changes but maybe it is

The ability of our own capacity

When it is working

That is part of

A gigantic conundrum