Literary escapades

Does everything lose its colour and taste with time, fades into oblivion where no one remembers a thing... How such vibrant shades can stop to excite, dulling deep, invigorating sounds into a blend... Do all the dreams and wishes at some point covering all of our horizon disintegrate leaving us wondering if they were even real... Year after year comes and goes, in a long line of events, like a flash of light that shines for a while and disappears washed away by sudden rain. Who will hold your hand in a moment that matters the most and won't let go... And more importantly, who will be able to answer all these questions?..

When maples cry with scarlet leaves tearing through the skies of especially deep blue, final autumn days are trapped in streaming water carrying them away until the next year. Cold breath lingering in the air is not ready to fade, let go of hope. Pine trees gather in circles hiding delicate fingers in clouds and shivering. Streets are awash with brittle leaves rustling gently under your feet, whispering to each other in colorful voices... And the sun looks you straight in the eye like an honest friend delivering a painful truth. It must be the time then. It feels like going to sleep. It feels like a dream to wake up from only in spring and be surprised again and again by the timeless circle of life.

Sudden rain landed on our busy city heads. Weather forecast was taken by surprise yet again. Forget the picturesque stories on TV and weather satellites. They all must've been asleep when it happened and are feeling a touch disoriented. People are running back and forth in genuine panic. Only 'chosen' few have umbrellas they kept in a sad, distrustful anticipation or bought in a hurry in a convenience store. And I am one of the chosen with the neat little umbrella in my bag. Shoes on the other hand, can't benefit from it. They are new, shiny, posh and extremely worried. It's their second day outside, in a real world. Suddenly they start feeling shoeshopsick for the cosy box on a warm, dry shelf. Life outside is tough and unpredictable. Who knows what will happen next. Maybe that drunken guy will step on them. He's so dangerously close and rather unstable. Or the woman who insists on letting her umbrella drip on other's footwear. And... Oh, my god, school kid

We are crossing years like mountains Stepping cautiously on trembling bridges Suspended above abysses of fear and hope Daring to look in the eyes of a destiny Daring not to turn back

When Day is opening its eyes In a moment before the light is visible On the fragile edge of a dream and reality All the colors are blurred into a rainbow Flowing through the crystal air Whispering into your ear - Morning is here ...

Writing is like breathing Like running on a slippery ice crisp winter morning With northern wind burning your lips And clouds moving fast across the sky It's like a life, with ups and downs, losses and gains Unbridled happiness and abysmal despair  Or even bigger because it includes all the 'what if's in the world And it's forever because time isn't an object It only matures with it like a good wine With pulse of hunger for knowledge and passion  It grows only stronger threatening to outlive you Even when it seems so far from happening It grows under your skin and may lay dormant for years To only blossom one of the springs When it can wait no more     

Writing keeps hunting me down. At home, on the go, in my sleep. It pulls my sleeve, it wakes me up in the middle of the night, half asleep, half aware. It pushes me around like a dilligent boss that won't stop until the work is done. I am looking for an excuse why not and can't find any.  I've been in hibernation for too long. The powerful wave is coming and sweeping everything on it's way. I'm holding on to my notepad (or should I say Ipad?) as a lifebuoy to help me swim to safety, sanity, serenity... And I am spinning and spinning in this roaring water, knocking on the stones along the way, going down with the glassy wall on a waterfall ride, resurfacing just to breathe and trying to keep my head above as much as it's possible.  Gripping cold, insane speed, exhilaration it brings, slamming into your face wind, the heart almost out of beat ...  And then it's slowing down, slower, slower. The work is done and I am free. For a little while. Good night

Sometimes I get tired of formulating my thoughts, to others and to myself. Words are crowding in my head, talking louder and louder, until the noise becomes excruciating. That's when I start dreaming of the oblivion, just going with a flow, without so much as considering what my next step would be. Not knowing - what a liberating concept. Moving on, taking things in as they are. I'd become an observer of life instead of running it's marathon.  Get off the lane, sit on the grass and watch days go by until it doesn't thrill you anymore. I am a realist and know it wouldn't last. But at this very moment it feels like a bliss. Slowing down to a complete stop, listening to the silence, operating on a completely different dimensional level. Even breathing slower would be quite an adventure. Seeing life stroll by, detached, relaxed, devoid of all worries.  I might notice things that are usually a blur. I might need time to process them, write or just stare. What would t

Some days aren't worth waking up. This was unfortunately one of them. Soaked from the pouring down rain she managed to squeeze into a crowded morning train just to hear the announcement that this particular and fastest service is cancelled and they all need to change to another, local. People were rushing out to get on even smaller train that would be stopping at every stop possible before arriving at the city center. 'Not my day', - she said to herself indifferently stating the fact. There were no surprises at what was happening. Just another rainy, sunny, snowy etc. day in a big city with few promises of reliable transport.  Another day of been late for work, another reason to apologize to the already irritable boss for the faults of not her own. Despite all the best efforts reality has chosen to test her patience one more time.  Smashed inside the coach, barely able to stand, balancing on the shaky floors of carving train she dreamt of warmer, sunnier and friendlier