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My life is a pendulum

from happiness to sudden grief,

and back…and forth,

from happiness to grief.

It’s hard to live.

Can you believe?

I face the grief in every single day.

The happiness is myth.

That’s why…it’s so hard to live.

Can you believe?

The happiness-on sand,

The grief-on solid rocks.

It is an endless task

to push it off the road

and throw from the cliff…

It’s so…so hard to live.



Can you believe?



How many times…in my mind,

I go through the gate

up by steps

to old and crumble house

and knock the door

or lean against the door,

just waiting for the miracle

To come and sit with me

In meaningful and trembling silence…

It’s so vivid

So physically strong…

I know…we belong,

just let the time come along.



The Nature

is revolting now

versus Men and God.

The Men distressing it.

And God…

can’t rule it anymore

Or, maybe

Never did?


just created World

and leaning back on cozy, puffy clouds

watching it

through semi-closed eyes,

permitting Men to do the rest,

to do it’s best

For His Creation…

But what we see?

The shear devastation…



Break your nap

World needs your help!

World desperately needs your help!



The touch of the petals

from ancient Sakuras,

Like kiss from the Heaven…

For ever…

For ever…

The touch of a man…

The love in the air…


The whisper in ear…

The rush in the veins…

The trembling…The pain…

imprinted in brain…

For ever…

For ever…

The touch of the senses

like code of Creation,

remains for ages…

remains the same

through all generations…

For ever…

For ever…



The glowing youth has dwelling

in the longing being.

And where is…this precious dwelling?

I have no answer to explain.

In mind

which keeps the traces of the touching…?

In soul

so open for the sensuality…

No, no…

In the flesh

which keeps all senses?

tight together,

and does not open flooding gate

to free them… to escape…

And all these senses

are compounds of my being…

They rush, they fight, unite

in throbbing veins.

And I solute the chemistry

for birth of endless youth…

which I am so proud… to possess.



This woman reminds me mother.

My mother…my mother…my mother.

So painfully strong

So pitiless strong.

I left her behind, I left her alone

and took on my own.

There was no time for looking around

That’s all.

I dig up my soul

so deep and so low

There were no depts.

There were no depts.

I have no regrets…

But woman brought image

the image of my mother.

My mother…my mother.

As punitive act

as punitive wreath…

From Heaven

or depth.



The pink flowers in my room

in full contrast

with snow outside.

But pink and white

are colors of the bride

proceeding slow

through the aisle…

like snow flake…

in solemn,

rhythmic motion.

And I assume the bride

is still a virgin,

awaiting eagerly for secrecy of coming night…

And snow flake with tender touch,

white and tied

the ground

and the sky, this night…