An unusual weekend

 

On Friday I was on the road for ten hours. The coach driver, a strong and beautiful woman in her forties, offered me candies and gave me a discount on the ticket. We caught a bad accident  and then heavy rain on the way and the coach was delayed for three hours. Never before in my life had I seen such a badly damaged lorry cabin. I doubt that the driver was taken out of it in one piece… A friend was then waiting for me at the end of the road and picked me up by car. He spent three hours waiting for me. And then carried my luggage to his car. How can I ever feel lonely? I am never alone. Never.

Then rain and cold and fog and moisture conquering everything for two days in this summer camp. Everything. Still, my heart was getting lighter and lighter. Saturday night came with singing and guitar playing and a lot of laughter and it felt so good to be with warm-hearted people and feel at home, among your own kind. And the next day, when I left the camp, a friend looked at me and said: “You are shining. And you look so kissable now.” “Thanks”, I said. “I’ve always been so successful with women.” And we laughed and hugged and said goodbye until next time.

On Sunday evening I was back to Bucharest, after a journey with three chain accidents on the highway and a speed ticket. Oh, and a fox crossed our road in a village, in plain daylight. As I was waiting for a bus to take me home, my phone rang. My good friend in Istanbul updated me on the news. I hadn’t heard anything.

“I was in the street when everything started. Suddenly, the army started shooting people. I saw about twenty people dying in front of me. For nothing… They were raising their arms in front of the military and saying: Shoot us, shoot us! And they shot them. And I remembered your words: You are a survivor. And so I got out of there.”

He is 23. Left Syria because of the war. Went to Lebanon and there was fighting there, too. Now Istanbul.

On Wednesday last week another friend gave me this book called “Istanbul Istanbul”, by Burhan Sonmez.

What is it with this life?

Now, in the light of this seemingly pure insanity, I am feeling so grateful for everything. For every breath. For every beautiful memory. For every kiss, every look that has ever felt like ‘yes, I recognize you from back home, I know who you are’. And for every hardship. Everything, every grain of sand, every smile, every step, every journey, every love story and every separation, everything has made me who I am today. And I am so in love with life. I am drunk on it. And I bow to the forces that bring us together every time. And I let go.

lady lazarus

ladylazarus

three hookers
suspended on their platforms
each wearing something red
complaining about low pay
waving sumptuous handheld fans
reminders
of long days between stone walls
in crinoline and lace

I still believe it takes such
can I call it generosity?
death by stoning
no exclamation mark as the words stop in mid throat
their
shall I call it availability?
a reminder
of long forgotten fears between two legs

I was dead
bearing the story of resignation
life took me by the hand
and invited me to dance
I said no
she insisted

PS I took the photo at a Rodin exhibition in Stockholm in January.

A drop of cold water falls on my right shoulder

It lingers a bit and then slides like melting ice cream
Before the night quickly licks it off my skin

The moon is half full
Armies of crickets are singing their anthem
Bracing themselves for another long night

I run past these tables outside a restaurant
“At the seaside I never go swimming, actually”
A girl’s voice says in English
And I remember her holding me
The sea
As I tasted her salt from my lips
I could never surrender to anyone like that
Not risky enough
My life at stake, all bravery awakens

What is it about this body that’s so important?
I see its shadow in front of me on the asphalt
What is it about it that’s so repulsive,
So desirable, so fragile, so strong
And yet so utterly honest
To the point of betrayal?

This dark stain on my chest
I touch it and it’s wet
How can one sweat just on the left?
Right where it hurts
Wait
I measure the concentration of salt
With the tip of my tongue
I think I’d better light some of that incense tonight

Cords

 

 

Cords

roots

An island planted in the entrails of the city
Shipwrecked on its shore
I find shelter
Succumbed to a will that is finally my own

A tall fire starts in the darkest corner
And there I call you

I love you

In all the languages I have ever spoken to you

In all the languages we will ever speak

 

 

I promised to come

Here I am

Now

Let go

I am free and you are free

I say it loud and clear

 

In all the languages that bound me to you

In all the languages that set us free

For all lifetimes to come

An eternal season of honeysuckle and crickets

A rotting carcass
Roses behind wrought iron fences
My parted lips as I breathe through my open mouth
Become numb and cold
Curiously cold
As the middle of my upper lip starts pulsating
Perhaps it rembers being sucked into a kiss
I then sink into my rib cage
A birdcage for my heart
My lungs two beehives keeping her warm
Will she ever break free?
I remember many, many years ago
A foot (I later had to love)
Stepped on it so hard
My ribs broke like a bundle of dry twigs
Under a thin layer of leaves on a forest path
There came a brief moment of stillness
Before something slipped out
Hovered above for a while
And flew off
Was it me?

A poem for my stomach (at night)

mirror road tm 7 jul16

Be still my stomach now
The night is calm and sleep it wins
But morning comes too soon
The sun doth shine and breakfast comes
May your plate be as full as the moon
And eat thou shall and make no plan
So joyous thou shalt be again

In Timișoara, getting creative when hunger strikes at night. Took the photo this morning on a happy stomach.

Gabriel

gabriel

Exactly one year ago today I moved my things into a new house and started a new life. So today I’m starting writing on my new blog, as an anniversary present I’m giving myself.

At the end of a long and intense day, I accidentally took the left turn too soon and found myself at the gate of this church I’ve been meaning to visit. To my surprise, it was still open and a tall man greeted me at the gate. I slowly stepped on this green island, roses and geraniums everywhere. It was so quiet I wanted to slow down my breath not to disturb the stillness. I leaned my bike against the church wall and, out of habit, locked it to a wooden bench. I went inside and felt like someone picked me up by the head and dipped me in a jar of incense and lily honey.

It’s so close to where I live and still I’d kept postponing to go inside. Schitul Darvari.

PS Dear Gabriel, be a good angel and make me understand the messages you bring.