Salty hands
Her hands were salty – and none could say if it was more salt because of the sweat or because of the tears. Her hands were salty and they miraculously shined next to the loafs of rye bread – just some other slices of the grayness of her life. Her hands were salty and they … Continue reading
shadows
The path from one thought to the next is barely bordered by the ghosts of grass blades which fed once upon a time on the death of a shadow. The longer the thought the sweeter the shadow and the sweeter the shadow the tenderer the silence. Look at my palms, tell me if you can … Continue reading
prints
put your palm on the ground, press it until you feel the dirt filling the space between your fingers, your striations, even your pores. now take it away, look at that print and leave. that print, filled with your gaze, will have been, in its (no matter how short) existence, no less precious or important … Continue reading
scars
this world is made of scars – a scar is every path we take on the face of the earth, just like a scar is that trace left behind by one of the countless falling raindrops. scarred is the air wounded by the wings of butterflies and scarred is the sky by our ever unsatisfied … Continue reading
flows
sometimes touching death can be soft, tender, delicately bitter, just like the feel of an almond flower which, no matter the taste of its seed, still blesses your senses with awe, and all you can do is realize that time will never ever be anything else but time. © Liliana Negoi 2017
“love thy neighbor”
raw blue flows over withered sands like a rain of quietness paving the path towards Eden with smaller heavens, shaped like tears, for light to walk upon them. from one side of the sky to the other, among clouds heavy with the footsteps of saints wandering, more and more often, from bottom to top, sometimes … Continue reading
when shadows cover the words
When shadows cover the words all that remain are heartbeats woven around seconds, lips now just a silence-bleeding scar, and recycled oxygen. The scent of empty daylight slithers into senses without the slightest hiss ink curdles and not even wolves dare to howl. When shadows cover the words paper breaks under the weight of nothingness … Continue reading
call me
call me when you’ll be old so old that the only thing making sense to your tired hands will be to open the windows during sunrise and to latch them back at dusk, when any name you’d call will taste round and salty in your voice when it will scratch the silence call me when … Continue reading
just a thought
If we managed to make a glass from the sands of time and then looked through it would we be able to see the light of the first star ever touching the death of the last star ever like God touches Adam on the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling? And if we did then shouldn’t we suddenly … Continue reading
vanity
after i die people will caress the bones of my words they’ll gather them from the paper with their eyelids they’ll embrace them with their thoughts like the thighs of a woman those of her man they’ll squeeze them of sense and colour and will leave them to lie wilted on the ground trying to … Continue reading
