fir trees of my years-30.06.15

*artwork- via



I’ve gone astray

Amongst the fir trees of my years

Under cold snows


During sweaty summer evenings.

I’ve failed to tie a string

Or  leave a bread crumbs trail

So I can find my way back

(36 years ago)

When I slipped into this world

And maybe then was happy.


Invariably, i am

( a sad little girl- an angsty adolescent-an all accepting woman)

Just looking for a place,

One guarded and secure,

To keep my hopes.


jerusalem for fool-25.06.10

*artwork-by gary kaleda


pure fantasy.
sunny winter days. my favorite.
ha!door opens and he brings the air in
for me to breath.
every time, virgin-like thrill
lusty love, lovely lust.
senses wide shut,
carefully covered
with precise amount of artificial sweetener.
yeah..well, the real is here ( or is he?)
morning coffee with silence OST
families, groceries. sink full of junk.

pretenders? or is it all that it takes?

i am unjust. the goodness is all over.
it’s only that… so difficult to let go
of imaginary passion,
for cosy warmth and promise(?)
of obscure togetherness.

simple things used to be so complicated-20.02.10

*artwork-“intimacy” by svetlana ziuzina via



maybe because he does not speak
i am mute again.
comfortably embraced by silence.
listening to the music of heartbeats
instead of uneven rumble of words.
we hold hands in our sleep
and i let him kiss my face in the morning
and make a dinner. for me.
simple things used to be so complicated.
but now i rest.
and i let him touch, where no one did before.



*artwork-  via


god’s lion, he is
or god’s lamb?
my hebrew jesus crist
so close to perfect, but
merely gentle

it was like dancing
because i wasn’t
i could not feel my limbs,
i was too old, and all the same the youngest

suburbs of holiness
illusive peace of. mind?
unending touch. no words to hide in

so easy to pretend
to be
blindfolded animal.
another step on
well known ground
so firm so nonexistent.



















she says i’ve got to-17.01.10

*artwork- frustration by mehran roozbahni


she says i’ve got to try to like this little girl
and i wonder, what is the way?
i wish i could friend her on facebook

she says i’ve got to stop pushing her away,
stop erasing her from this hard disk
on the back of my mind,
mossy used to say

she says i should be empathetic…
should i?
for something that i can not really grasp?
or remember?


i hide among all these names that barely have faces
just so i won’t have to see my own
and there they go
so precious so unimportant
i keep this puzzle of pieces with no unique form
i choose where to place them
while i lay in my bed and do not remember
whose stomach is pressed against my back.

happy new year-31.12.09

*artwork- “red couple dance” by naxart studio via


walled in comforting fears
my fruitful quest for rejection
won’t stop. i’d not give up
on you
so sweet, slap after slap
every word tastes like leather belt on my skin
leaving red marks that i collect and keep
carefully cataloged
and maintain them thoroughly.

we move, altering egos of cowardice.
my faceless men
your nameless women,
an endless fuel for
our dance of hurt and solace.

in the middle-28.12.09

*artwork- painting by andrew salgado via


i was having pulsing you, in me,
for long minutes, i believed
your phone rang and rang and rang
i asked to pick it up
and right away
i felt your flesh and your mind sliding out
from me
to her.

she was bleeding,
maybe loosing her baby.
i heard you say
” i am sorry, i can’t”
and the thought
“i could easily be in her shoes”

blew my mind

you were out,
out of me,
out of my bed, my room
my life.

yet not with her.
never taking sides.
always in the middle. 

i was silent.
you- eaten by guilt, every touch is an apology- asked
“what’s on your mind?”

“i am sad, for
you’re so eager to be the savior.
yet you are never truly there ”

artist’s housekeeper-21.12.09

*artwork-new vision, osho zen tarot


i am an artist’s housekeeper.
i always wished to be a muse,
but this will also do fine.

i come, and i arrange.
facilitate the space,
so he can create.
i feed him.
i wash his dirty dishes
and i fold his tangled clothing.
i put on his favorite music,
and light the incense
then i open the windows
to let out the smell of paint
and of dreams that will never come true

i watch him working,
and my heart is full.
i touch his mess
and i feel empowered
for it is my tiny share,
his creation is ,in a way, mine

love deprived whore on a days of hecate-15.12.09

*artwork-“don’t take my sunshine away” via tumblr


sometimes i wake up in the mornings and i just know that it is going to be a bad day.



or, filled with dismay and anxiety.

and then everything gets slow.

arthur says these are the days of Hecate. so that i am sensitive during. and, in general, sensitive.

gera calls it “love deprived whore, with her heart locked”. that is also a way to put it.

it’s been a year since i am tending  to myself.


sometimes it seems that i do hear something.

is this how breaking through feels?

today i am restless again. i am not barren, but i can not give birth. there is something inside, yet it is unable to come out.

i am not letting it go.

of imminently shifting tides-10.12.09


*artwork- drawing by kosta gurgov

deputed beggar
spotless junky
getting no share.
i am gone.

hungered by anger
stabbed with self pity
embedded by excluding blame
again, i am being tortured
while glue-like minutes drip away

that’s who i am
unheeded child,
still waiting, miserably restless,
for ever evanescent mom.

Greek tragedy…
predestined rocking…
oh, mother, is there any good in talking
(of imminently shifting tides?)