Things of Life

De ce mi-ar plăcea zilele de iarna...? Frigul imi intra-n oase, si copacii sunt dezbrăcați de haina ce-o iubesc; Peisajul e cam gri, și dacă zăresc ceva colorat e man-made. Dar sumbrul asta pe mine mă-ndeamnă sa mă-ntind departe, Undeva unde regăsesc tot ce nu mai am, Si ma-ncalzesc la o lumina intima, In care simtirea face holograme. Si parca de fapt n-am pierdut niciodată nimic, Pentru ca-ntotdeauna mă regăsesc pe mine... Si vara nu e departe, căci atunci îmi iau zborul către un nou eu...

     It was a man John who liked everything in order. From random things neatly laid out around him, to life events that needed to fall in a particular order or measure of time. Thus he always seemed to know the time for something. So, when he got to a certain age, he knew he had to figure out a livelihood to choose. His father, a shepherd from Transylvania, told him he can either take up shepherd's work, or go to school to become a teacher. John loved the poetry of a shepherd's life, but he did not want to put up with hardships of tending to the sheep. Neither was he as much into grammar or math; but he went on to become a teacher.       Years went by and young John was finishing his school and was ready to receive his first job as a primary school teacher. In his own vision of order, he felt it was time to get married, and was looking. By now he had had the taste of women of all kinds, and he was no longer a shy lad; therefore, he was set on finding ...

     As you sit on the sand and look towards the sea, what do you think of when you watch the relentless movement of the waves?                                                                        *  *  *      When I came across Lascaux drawings, I felt an intimate attraction. Simple lines, yet powerfully expressive. Not the least, the unique texture of the rocky surface adds a new level of aesthetics. For some reason I feel connected to those humans who made the drawings; could be just the plain desire to take a note of something, in a fugitive way...      Looking at ocean's waves I imagine the old human marking their surface with drawings of the water creatures that they hunt. Because, as the waves are coming towards me, they carry all kinds of stories...

De Craciun privesc pe fereastra La copaci, și cerul roz, de seara; Ma învârtesc intr-o trăire cât o lume-- Inalta, adâncă, și lunga... Plina de înălțări Si coborâri, Reântoarceri Si reveniri...

      I was strolling on the narrow streets of a beach village by the Pacific Coast, gazing at cute gardens and window displays of various boutiques. Turning on a back alley, I discovered  a small shop, specialized mainly in antiques/collectibles/second-hand items. It was closed in that day, so I peeped through some odd shaped windows and noticed an object that captured my interest: a sort of ceramic figurine. I left the beach village, but I kept thinking at the small object.       A year later, I found myself again in that place, and I knew that I had to check on that little shop. It was closed again, and I could not see the object through the window. After some waiting, somebody finally opened the store. I went straight to the back shelf where the figurine used to be. I scrutinized the array of old trinkets and through my joy  I recognized the object that caught my attention at first. It was actually a ceramic soap dish in the form of ...

     "Tell me a story with animals..." "But without pity..."        As a child, I got lots of stories throughout the day, but before I would finally succumb to sleep I wanted one more,  one about animals, whose end would always be happy, where no animal would die or be hurt...                                                                      *   *   *      Adults are in the habit of telling their children how cute animals are, they teach kids to love them, to  caress them, to feed them, to protect them. And sometimes kids take it so seriously that animals become their best friends. But then a conflict develops when a child discovers that he or she has to eat the flesh of  friends. They are slaughtered, cut into pieces, and served as food,...

There are those moments in the night When sleep can't overcome me; And hear from far away the call  To question life's intricate ways That mingle in some... perhaps... disorder. But night is an old friend of mine, Her voice is only soothing... I know that answers always come, In forms of heartfelt movements. I am enshrouded by the night, And stars with sort of subtle lights, In there Truth is floating free, I only need to make it mine.