the silver string
morning.
just fresh and kind.
fast cars are approaching empty streets.
work opened doors.
noise of kids and school bus.
one forgotten silver string is lying on the street.
the wind is showing out of nowhere and approaches slowly.
"would you like to dance"?
what beauty was created in such a short time.
business mind kept many away to notice it; except for one little girl.
she stopped on her run, and glanced at the pirouettes that silver string was making in the arms of the gracious wind.
what joy and freedom entered her heart.
"I will remember you!", she shouted to the string.
somehow she knew this beauty might just save her one day, in the hour of grown up emptiness.
and string? she kept dancing...the wind took her to the big trees, where she found a home in old woodpecker cavities.
the hidden truth of bravery
just hide, hide under the blankets of false smiles.
hide under obedience to everyone that calls your name.
hide and never tell them how brave you are.
hide and laugh at their thoughts how much braver they are.
hide and cry at their thoughts how much smarter they are.
did they ever think why the black sheep runs away?
Who is the One who goes to find her?
they do not matter, when they think they matter the most.
They do not matter when they think they are the good ones.
They don't see: you matter because you understand what bravery is.
so hide.
and let them laugh.
season of spring is approaching.
dying before death
it's hard: red is covering the sun.
it's time to die.
but still you will walk this earth, as a stranger without home.
dead. but still alive.
pain is making it so special.
you know the best moments are never written about. they are lived.
the wind, the first drop of rain and the silence before the sound of cry.
oh, the beauty of death, that I willingly live.
why?
because.
because I wait for that one uncreated ray of sun to take me and tell me: welcome, my child.
all of this will disappear like the dust: "..Raise blinds or shades and wash windows."
matrix full of sweat and tears will be splintered "in a thousand pieces and scatter in to the winds.”
Maran Ata.
I wait. I smile. I cry.