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so many colors in the forest from afar – the tea getting cold © Liliana Negoi

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thoughts leak their marrow in the silent room – where are the shadows of the foretime dreams? among the roots and branches of the gloom, among the gleams of yesterday’s perfume, where is the hope? what shallow salty streams became its tomb?   when did my heart such bitterness befriend? the lightness of my youth, … Continue reading

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sparrows chirp, flies fly

there are days when not enough shadow falls from the shoulders of trees and there’s nowhere you can hide from your thoughts. the taste of coffee, no matter how strong, how sweet, is only black, and seconds crash along its backbone – the wind carries the scent of drought as if it were a parasite, … Continue reading

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under the heel of tomorrow you look and you sigh and all that you know becomes dust – the ever changing veins of roads tango around your pulse and you look and you sigh and all that you know has always some other shape, some other scent, maybe even some other name, but you know … Continue reading

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‘Twas but a match – sonnet

‘Twas but a match that stood between our senses, A match that shivered, waiting to be lit And at its turn to torch the stubborn fences Preventing our two lifelines to befit. “Let there be fire!”, begged silently each heartbeat, “Let there be flames!”, was written in our eyes, But spoken words were like the … Continue reading

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The sand quarry pond – haibun

Not very far from my house there’s a lake where I like to go and forget about everything every once in a while. I simply sit on its shore, next to a willow, and let my eyes roam all over the place, and if I’m lucky I sometimes listen to a perfect white noise. The … Continue reading

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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

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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

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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

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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

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