Collage (by firstcomet)

There is nothing magical here
Only occasional temporary traces
Of tango-like steps
Left on the snow white ground
Near the place where I
Occasionally lay down to
An intimate moment
And a soft music
Filling the air
with some particular magic;

Ah, Ah, facts, general, specific
do not make a big fuss about!
Sometime it’s sweet
Sometime it’s bloody
Sometime it makes sounds
Sometime it stares and smiles!
And then the next song
And then the next voice
And then I try to follow
Those traces that intersect
And diverge before our time
Comes up, and I say:
I think it’s snowing again,
And I need to figure out
what color it is this time!
And you whisper “was that cum-
your emotional brain
or was that cum-
your logical brain?”

Emotional, emotional I may ...
I see your reflection,
on the glass window of night
The flickering lights,
twinkling in your eyes
Beyond these walls,
the city is quietly napping
Just to arise,
another pale day of fluffy flakes
I won't be able to hold on to your image;
eyelids are giving up,
I will catch you later
Beyond the borders
of this shuttered town ...

The feather pillow on the bed
Head on the pillow,
Bird in the head,
Flying to the dreamland!
The clock is ticking,
A distance light is blinking,
And I’m thinking …
Another day has gone!

And the breathe-ins
And the breathe-outs
And the roll-lefts
And the roll-rights
And before I know,
The ticking clock
and the blinking light
Are all gone!

The catamaran standing tall,
The Great Wall,
And the Niagara Fall,
I hear them call!
The caul is torn
The baby is born!
It’s Time to sail
To the land of whales!

And then the ticking clock,
And the bright light,
And the apples jam delight;
A new day has begun!

I have become (by firstcomet)

I have become the face
You see in the mirror
I have become the body
That you feel its weight
I have become the self
You carry;
the thoughts, the memories.

I have become
Through experience, resilience and endurance.
I sense the present
I’m about to forget the yore
I’m about to forget the future
I have become the one child of now
I’m not becoming, I am being!

Yes, I exist!

There are things that make us sad
There are things that make us sneeze
And there are sounds that make us nostalgic
And those that move our hips
And those that move our lips;
Singing, holding hands, remembering…

A self, like a carriage, pulled by memories
The shallow pond of now,
The clarity of current,
Is what I see, what I believe
What I hear
The vibrating strings of a lute

The evoked memories
Never making their ways to the present
Never joining the ocean of An experiencing self
Connected to the stillness of now
In between these lines
I exist!