miluji poezii
miluji poezii dnešního dne
když mi paprskami
z hloubě tvé duše
vykrádaš slova

Mimi' s sadness is not lonely. It has her.

Sometimes, I just want to be so little, that I could hide into a small, tiny, forlorn, invisible nutshell where no badness exists. I would not want to create a big world, but one where all in it would be safe.

 

 

under the dead willow tree

under the dead willow tree
i saw death
under the dead willow tree
i saw life
under the dead willow tree
i saw a baby bird (me)
under the dead willow tree
all in your eyes
under the dead willow tree
i' ve seen it all
the dead willow tree
whispers me more

On a old shabby napkin, written in words hardly recognizable...those which sing to Janacek' s Kreutzer Sonata

Reminiscences to wedding (written and almost forgotten, on a plane from NYC to London):

how delightful it is, to think
to mentally embrace
the idea of our future being
being reunited in grace
in our words
we will love forever
until the dead ashes us all
you said 'yes' to her

revelation

One should not forget about certain things. And thus, one should write.