Breaking Down Up the Hill

Certain days are made for drama

Icy roads and cars breaking down

In the middle of the night

On the highway

Unexpected but planned

As a trap by the subconscious

Slowly driving home in a new car

As an old man

Less vise than before

Ratata

Distant gunfire from the hill

Then the noise of silence

So many bullets

Flying away

Flying Avery

In every direction

Ricocheting on roofs, walls and trees

Losing the causality

Hitting people and things by misfortune

Lost cases, lost life’s

Empty eyes stirring out in the eternal darkness

Of afterlife

Passed Time

Lost city, left by time

Somewhere at the end of the world

The train is late

Waiting forever

In a loop

While the sun sets

Over the rusty tracks

Weak

The day ended before it stated

A weak light hiding between

The trees and the sky

Dull, tired colors

Changing into black evening

Early in the afternoon

The Silence of the City

Silence is the best of sound

So very expressive

The hard options

The non action plan

Not to act, not to do

Not to think, just a number of blocks

That has to be destroyed or endured

The winter will last a long time

Maybe forever

At least to long

As every year

The Winter Rain

The rain makes the world go grey

This is the time when dreams die or melts away

Nothing good will come out of this

Now is the time to pay the price

For hope and love

it is cold here and by the end of Winter

You will not take notice

Perils of memory scolding through my mind

Returning

I live in the north

In the land of small hills

And a lot of trees

Some blue lakes

And a lot of lonely and cold people

I wanted to leave but somehow

I am stuck here

First time I went back it was, Because of the language

The second time because Of my career

The third time out of desperation

The fourth time out of frustration

The fifth time has not happened yet

But it will

This is life in the far north

A place where the ice and snow

Is absent

The place where your soul freezes to ice

Take my advice

Stay out

Burned House

IMG_9914

The war is never an easy thing

Most of the times

Is not like in movies

Distant void noises

Sounds of gunfire from far away

A shell falling here and there

No water

No electricity

No TV

Maybe a radio

And darkness

from dusk to dawn

The cold, frigid feeling

That eats your bones

The smoke of the fire

The smoke of cheap tobacco

Follows me

As do the stories and candle light