Literary escapades

Giant Moon is glaring from the heavy skies, glamorous and intimidating, with the confidence of a bully toying with your consciousness, sharpening senses like school pencils, stirring dark waters deep down your most inner self in an attempt to dig up some unfortunate memories burred long ago, moving leaves, disturbing the soil, shedding light into a complete darkness. Long shadows and forgotten ghosts come to life, zooming on places in the past with exceptional intensity and there's nowhere to run. The stage is set, all lights are on you, while you're trying to summon all the strength and shreds of sanity to offset the avalanche of emotions pouring over your soaking self. Trembling and alone, up against the whole universe, it's all you ever going to get in the end.

The smell of fire is here There's nowhere to hide or pretend it doesn't exist Dozens of flames are dancing around the globe Seemingly remote and lacking immediate significance to those at a distance The ones in the middle of the inferno scream and fight, crying out for help in despair Faces pressed against the glass of indifference Eyes awash with pain of loss Quivering lips Clutching fingers Words can be heard If only we listened weren't sickly used to ignoring the screams, muffle disturbing sound, close eyes and minds to nightmares that came to stay All in the insane hope of avoiding similar fate The ground shudders in pain absorbing streaming tears and blood every day hour Choking helplessness prompts the thought: Are we destined to the final realization: 'All hope abandon, ye who enter here...'

When exquisite beauty enters your life it shatters everything around.  You find yourself in front of it mesmerized and lost. The world suddenly falls into shadows. Frozen in your footsteps you search for answers in the strange perfection that came to be from all the improbable lines merging. It only exists for a brief moment  but is branded on your memory long after it's gone. Deliciously bewitching, it clouds the reasoning and pushes aside seemingly irrelevant, taking all the space in your heart and soul.  You fall into a fantasy that feeds and eats at you, splashing fireworks and dragging through the strongest current of emotions you'll ever experience. With stars falling all around, your eyes are fixed on the sky even if you can't move anymore, or wish, or stay. The least of all you'd want to walk away. Beauty is a powerful addiction that follows you around reminding of itself in every stroke, sound or shadow. Nothing is ever going to be the ...

Some writings are carefully crafted work of art. Others are raw emotional splashes on a canvas, seemingly devoid of purpose or logic. They blind and disturb by its outright force poured over whatever medium is used. Some appeal to our intellect and others to the deep recesses of hidden inner self, buried underneath all the inhibitions of social expectations, waiting to see the day of light, breathe air and live, if only for a passing moment. As if somebody has suddenly started playing an elaborate music piece on a violin with the nerves instead of strings. Invisible echoes coming from within, respond to the sound, trying to move in unison. And failing, miserably, longing to keep up, fascinated with the mere thought of it. Images, haunting in their exuberant elegance, painted in smallest details when words are felt all the way through, playfully innocent and all the way stirring sleeping monsters deep down, ruffling imaginary feathers and not giving any answers to the questio...

I am floating on the shiny, cool surface letting go of myself, memories, dreams, life itself. The warm touch of the sun above and the languid water below are comforting and don't expect my response. I don't think I have anything in me left to give. I am empty and hollow like space. Being a part of things but not the thing itself is a new concept. It doesn't stir any emotions, it seems so distant but clear and logical. Everything is falling into place and illusive balance finally makes its presence known. It matters so little when all the energy is drawn out and the rest of the being feels embalmed and protected from all the chaos and upheavals and too far away to grasp or care. The soft breeze is lighter than a feather, lukewarm water with all the reflections of days gone by and fading into oblivion, muffled sounds of splashing waves, and occasional birds above, sliding between fingers lazy current, and me being and not being myself anymore. Like a melting ice-cream on ...

Passing youth is knocking on the door with loud insistence of speeding express, with familiar tunes, flashing memories and all the energy it can summon. The hurricane is here, door opens and I am swept away. It's surreal and touching. Still, I am standing behind the glass, watching and listening, unable to enter. One careless movement and it all will disappear, swallowed by the time ripples. Experience is breathtaking and excruciating. The vibe is so overwhelming that suddenly you are at loss which reality matters more. Current surroundings are just a dream... Has it all been just a dream when your heart is racing, aching for reunion with the past with desperate intensity of a last chance, slipping away into another time pocket. When the wind rattles your whole being and inevitable storm is raging around, life behind the glass is all that matters and counts... Brighter than the stars, memories are cutting through the time and space, setting you free to spin in the wind....

Rain is sliding lazily from the leaves, drop by drop. Multicolored hydrangeas, wet and disheveled never looked more beautiful on the background of the silver-tinted skies. Torn clouds keep crying away, tragic and lost, looking down on scenery underneath, wishing to stay and rest on the top of trees or soft, tangled grass, watching the day go by. Silence is only disturbed by the  murmuring water, pouring through the green. Cool moist air fills lungs with unusual freshness that'll soon disappear into the real summer heat, eaten by the ever-hungry sun. Light drizzle is stretching an invisible net, layer by layer, assembling little shiny purls strung together on the web lines, forcing spiders into hiding. Sounds are softened, subdued, cushioned cosily into a mellow cotton ball world, existing only for a moment in June.