A PUZZLE

Is there a Light inside concrete?
Some Life in cardboard?
Or we just make ourselves believe
We do not live in junkyard?

Is there a Soul that understands
Inside our fellow shopper?
A Song behind the buzz in malls,
Like gold in copper?

Is there a Meaning that would help
Explain results of voting
So none of us would feel despair
Nor any loathing?

Is there a Word that makes all sense
A glimpse of Truth not blinding,
That we could grasp among ourselves...
Is there a chance of finding?

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PERSONAL SPORTS

Once I was a surfer very fast
On waves of fear and anger,
From waves of distant past
I dived depths of hunger.

Then I was firm on a snowboard
Of constant ice-cold loneliness
While waving old and rusty sword
For cutting down all closeness

With any human being...

And then I hit the ceiling
Of possible scenarios
And it was very chilling,
Impossibly precarious

And fear became as coffee
Left in the cup for weeks
And hanging as a trophy
Of long dead ancient Greeks

On wall of my inaction
That is about to break
Attacked by the faction
Of organized headaches

Until some life unknown to me
Begins to grow on ruins
Of all my old and present sins
And all my needless burdens.

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A PROJECT

Despite of what is said by some
Our life is not a project.
Regardless of our chromosomes
It has no formal logic.

It's deadline's constantly postponed
And happens very sudden,
And timetables can't be ever known,
And expenses bring ruin,

Quite contrary to what one plans... .

Life puts to flame all oil-cans
Of changing, liquid dreams
We make ourselves, believe
Me when I say it seized
Me on my way
To rest
After a day
Of zest,
While working on a project

And like a bird that fell from nest
I now must learn to fly anew
Before I freeze in morning dew
To death.

--------------------------
....

God came to me as silent thunder
And blinded me with darking Light
Then everything what lurked under
The junkyard of my daily Life
Was glowing like a gold of sun
Was streaming as a mighty river
Was growing as a grass so ripe
One cannot burn or cut or plunder
One can now only live and thrive...

There is a glue inside ourselves
That sticks with all that is
And recreates us from non-sense
Of our materialistic bliss
Where we dry up as instant soup
Without the boiling waters
Of faith and unifying love
And all that really matters...