A man of sensibilities

A man of sensibilities

Is an admirable man

He talks about philosophy

His love for books

The first bluebells of spring.


A man of sensibilities

Wears well-ironed shirts.

He wants to please the eye

Like he gladdens the heart

Of all whom he encounters.


A man of sensibilities

Has a disciplined mind.

He measures his words, his gestures

His lies.

Respect his presence inspires.


A man of sensibilities

Once broke my heart.

He never commented on it, he never addressed it

His sensibilities would not allow for it

He was better than that.



Play this melody.

It makes me dance.

It brings me delight.



Take a minute to dream.

It feels me with life.

It gives me solace.


The sun is already up.

I never thought time would fleet like that.

My books are empty.

I’m yearning…


Paint me

Paint me.

My hair is turning white

My eyes are turning grey

My heart is turning black

I fade.

I forget.


Keep me.

Force me stay

As a ghost, as a memory.

I don’t want to dissipate.

Darkness, darkness!

The cold is wasting me away.



Emptiness is black and sticky

Like tar

Like spoiled Coca Cola.


I walk down the street

It’s raining.

The pavements are grey and dirty

Tree leaves flutter to the ground dully

The people pass by hidden behind their brown umbrellas.


I try to remember

There is nothing to remember.


I arrive home.

The door is dark blue

My pigeonhole is full of spam

I get inside.

The sun has set behind the clouds.

Soon it will get dark.