I am sure

Newspapers tell many stories

while I soak them in a bowl of water

the stories fade and sink

and then three days later 

I paint new stories with pink

I saw a little boy once

while he played with a spinning wheel

I counted the cups in the sun

and tea that steamed in the clay cups

made every story  heal

The streets around my home are narrow

while I walk looking around

the puppies follow me everywhere

and when I hide to lose them

they suddenly forget why they were there.

Now I dont search for 'that' something

while I know that its out there

it doesnt really matter anymore

and I dont really need to care

because you were not here before.

to the nightmare

and if you come to me as a wall

i shall change the direction of my crawl

if i fail to reach your end

i will end my reach to you

and if you come to me as a flower

i shall keep you in my album 

when the photos will grow pale and yellow

you shall still be blooming around

and if you come to me as a madman

i will shoot myself in the head

if i fail to forget your madness

i will be the madness that will count.

but i dont want you to come as anything

i dont want to know your name

i dont want to know you exist

because you remind me the longest sleepless night.

nightmare

truth with one portion of guilt may taste better
and when its almost drunk
you see sediments of fear that wait for the climax
tea leaves can wait for another life