Archive for August 12, 2014


They march in my dreams
on Bob Dylan’s song:
How many times
will their features
keep changing
from holocaust victims
on their way to the ovens,
from refugees drowning,
washed ashore to walk on?

Starving children trapped
on a mountain, keep marching.
How many times do we turn our heads?
They march on in my nightmares
while yesterday’s papers
fly, white birds through the streets
and the answer keeps
blowing, keeps blowing my friend.
The answer is so far away.

Last rain

We went back to bed
and listened to the rain
with eyes closed
thinking in same speed,
the chain of moments,
our tongues tasting
every memory, each bead.

Your eyes did most of the talking,
we had made love like before,
now we stared at each other.
The sudden ending of the rain
made us realize we were more
naked than we had ever been.

More naked than we had ever been
we listened to the rain again
thinking in same speed.
With eyes closed, we were more.
It was the day after our break up
and all had been said before.

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