a boy flies over europe
as many boys do –
clouds, and sunsets,
and mountains, and snow;
a boy flies over you.


a boy flies over europe
he lands a bit below –
the sunset turns to darkness,
the mountains into woe.
it’s christmas, and the boy;
i guess he’s going home.

I just wanted to wake up next to you one day.
Open my eyes and see your hair flooding my pillow.
Press my face on your neck and hug you softly, while you return to consciousness.

I just wanted to share a morning coffee with you one day.
Lean on your kitchen counter, while I’m looking at your eyes regain their morning lights.

I just wanted to kiss you before you leave for work one day.
Walk aimlessly in the city until you finish, and wait eagerly for you to appear at the coffee shop on the corner.

I just wanted to share a walk with you one day.
Your hand wrapped in mine, to listen to you talk about all the things that fascinate you, and all the things that don’t.

I just wanted to kiss your eyelids and whisper to you wishes for the prettiest dreams one day.
Watch you drift to sleep, while holding my hand on the top of your stomach.

I just wanted a full day with you one day.
But then, maybe I would want more.
And I guess, maybe it’s better that after all, I got none.

I dream about war,

and music and buses and people from the past.
I dream about people who were who they said they were and people who lied.
I dream about destruction and fire and pain.
I dreamed that I had a choice and I chose destruction.
I dream about love. I dream about affection.
I dream about caring and deeply understanding.
I dream that the world is mine and I choose what to make of it.

I dream about transforming. I dream about staying the same.

I dream about breaking and building, and breaking again.
I dream about people, and I dream about dreams.
It’s funny, because the dream is always the same.

(throwback continues, this one is from 2016. today it has added meaning, as things do.)

You’re walking in a long, deep corridor.
No windows or doors around. The light comes from above.
You keep walking forward.

Hanging on the walls, coloured pictures you drew as a child.
Undefined lines and shapes in a language you can’t be certain if you understand
or if you ever did.
They are moving as you move,
the floor is changing forms.

A sticky material comes out of your body.
The place smells rotten.
You are afraid, but you are still walking.

She will come, and She will take your hand.
You will hold Hers, tight. She will listen to your breathing.
It’s fast, and sharp.

Your hands are sweaty. You tighten your grip in Hers.
You feel ashamed.
You let your hands slip and your palm escapes its shield.

You are alone. Naked.
Her presence reminds you of your loneliness.

She turns her head to face you – Oh Lord! How beautiful She is.

Her eyes looking somewhere behind you.
“The Lady, she has been waiting for you”, She finally says and leaves towards the Light.

She belongs to the Light.
The Light belongs to Her.
She disappears.

You are walking in a long, deep corridor.
There are no Lights.
A sticky material comes out of your body, glowing in the dark.

Your hands are sweaty. They are searching for Hers.

The Lady; She has been waiting.

(took my shot in translating something I wrote back in 2013)

i still carry your poem in my bag
everywhere i go –

sometimes it almost falls from the pages of my notebook and i see the corners creeping from the back

i don’t throw it away
although i thought of burning it far too many times

i told you it’s yours to do it whatever you want
but you never told me what to do with it –
as you never told me what to do with myself

so i will keep it

and carry it with me

as i carry you

every day

in my heart.


I lay all the things I hate about you on a line.
Your indecisiveness, your way of dealing with the things you’re scared of.
The way you treated me when I was most vulnerable.
Your reading repulsion.

I looked at them, then looked at you.

Laughing, I imagined booping your nose.
I’d put up with anything.
Just for that boop.