One line a day

One line a day,

I promised myself to write,

even if it is bs.

 

One line a day,

to exorcize the evil spirits,

to de-demonize my heart,

to clear out the air of the room.

 

One line a day

might not seem enough

or good enough,

but it’s there,

written,

engraved out of the soul’s depths.

 

One line a day

is all I need to start over

fresh,

anew

like an explorer in a strange land,

but this time,

I’ve been invited over

to sit and talk

with its people.

 

One line a day,

as I wake up at dawn,

alone in my chamber,

like a maid whose

day’s work is daunting her.

 

One line a day,

as I go to bed at night,

after working hard

on earning the food

that’s waiting for you on the table.

 

One line a day,

for the pain,

the misery,

the world around me

I can’t explain,

the clouds,

the forests,

the lakes,

the dead flowers in my yard,

the travelers,

the workers,

the family,

the friends,

the light in the morning,

the darkness at night.

 

One line a day

for the words buried in me,

haunting me,

and the ones that came before me.

 

One line a day,

for tomorrow,

our dreams

and Hope.

 

Photo: Walking in Stadspark, Groningen, NL. December 2018. Minolta Dynax 7000i (AF 35-105mm). Earl Grey Lomography Film 200, 35mm film.

The Misfits

A simple word is not enough, is not enough, for us who struggle with the world. The exiles, the weirdos, the misfits.

We are one and we are nothing the world cannot explain. We are products of our own insecurities and reflections of the world’s injustices.

We scream in our sleep; we open our windows and stare at the white noise of the world.

Darkness does not scare us. We are the dark and the cold. We have seen the abyss and stared at the void.

Through loneliness we have learned ourselves. We have seen how the ugly transforms.

Through the vanity of hope we have seen light. We twisted and scratched it, we’ve sensed and conquered it.

And now, below the fresh, stark moonlight we surrender our souls to the Arts of tomorrow.

We are the role models everyone fears and secretly admires.

We are the truth told before birth and the lie on the deathbed.

At the end of a dream we are the nightmare, and in nightmares we create dreams.

One word is not enough, is not enough for us to be seen. To be left alone and to surrender.

We give up on the world and draw Art with our tears. We close our windows and forget the void.

We lose and we win, what humanity ignores; to be Art in the light and Poetry in the dark.

 

(Photo: Buffavento castle in Kyrenia mountain range, Northern Cyprus, 2014. Taken with I-phone 4 and edited with VscoCam)