sweetest path

this is how his voyage ended:

there was rage in his heart, clawing to be let out.

the fall from grace was a warning

to us all: dreamers, murderers, saints.

we are acquainted with the path that guides us

toward the inevitable

yet we wonder who opened it for us?

who was the first whose steps

touched its pristine snow?

he barely remembers these days

how its trecherous whiteness melt in his mouth;

it tasted like sugar and honey,

as lies always do.




the hero’s journey

three sisters veiled in white:

the spinner, the measurer, the cutter
and I, my back turned to them - a blind eye,
trying to locate the place where fate enters life -
like an arrow wounding the soft flesh of time;
this is the beginning of all things: fate and necessity -
inseparable cohesion; there’s also the voyage
towards the loftier shores: perfection, order -
maybe just an imaginary adventure of discovery and knowledge
or a sign of hubris - the noble heroic striving
to defy a dark god who prefers us wingless
and fearful of the inevitability of a tragic end…


reflection

falling deeper and deeper 

into the black silence;

counting the stars -

milestones of loss,

constellations of mourning;

never-ending fall -

mysterious gravity

of a dying planet

burning somewhere

on the edge of the galaxy of pain…

I close my eyes and imagine

my true face in the soul’s mirror:

I see a gentle animal,

voiceless,

resigned to its fate.

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