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Il se cache

dans l’ombre

tisser des feuilles

vert camouflage

au-dessous d’une arbre

Debout, flottant

esprit habille en homme

il m’attende

dans l’ombre

des mes rêves…




Art: Piotr Lichwierowicz


How wonderful it would be

to stop counting time

forget one’s age

one’s height

one’s past

no hours or minutes

just moon and sun

and endless freedom

to discover

one’s age

one’s wisdom

the world

Art: Salvador Dali, The Persistence of Memory (1931)


I saw your face

It was a dream

It was real

I don’t know

I saw your face

You were here

I missed you

Until the next time

When we are both cats…


Art: Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Boy with a Cat




His eyes.

She was in a grand hall, teeming with people. So many people, it was hard to see past them. Heads formed a cobbled tapestry, resembling a heavy, angry ocean under a dark sky. The steady murmur of voices was like the hum of an invisible swarm, hovering somewhere outside, seeping in like magma. Stifling, relentless, encroaching. Slowly she made her way through the crowd, jostled left and right, losing her sense of direction with every step. She could not turn back. She could hardly move, finally giving herself up to the pressing current of so many bodies against hers. Then she saw his eyes. Dark, unblinking, looking straight at her. She could not see his face, body, only the dark eyes riveting her to the spot. Fear pushed her on and she struggled against the throng, desperately trying to escape… She knew she couldn’t.



Under the full moon

Nothing stirs

Under the full moon

Oceans rise

Under the full moon

Fear departs

Under the full moon

Nature sleeps


Under the full moon

Soul rejoices

Under the full moon

Love is born

Under the full moon

Lovers sigh

Under the full moon

Lovers die


Under the full moon

Body lies still

Under the full moon

Heartbeat subsides

Under the full moon

The future is here

Under the full moon

The past revives


Under the full moon

All is as is

Under the full moon

Nothing leaves

Under the full moon

Darkness reigns

Under the full moon

Light remains.





Night encroaches

Dreamless state of terror

Voided sleep

Black on black

Fear appearing in the dark

Night encroaches

Soul departs

What remains

Has no right

To be



Art: Odilon Redon

Unlike everyone else who could sleep for days, even months – and there were stories of those who, lost in their dreams, slept for years and, like On, were finally forgotten – Ona woke up often. She lay in the darkness with her eyes closed, wondering where she was. Was it Tu, or Tam? Stepping outside, she observed the receding forest and a growing silence that seemed to descend on the valley. The sun was slowly disappearing over the horizon, and she felt as though she would never see it again. The homes were empty, and there was no one around. With a sudden realization, she knew she was the last one awake in Tu. She walked through the quiet and deserted hamlet until she came upon a solitary weeping willow, its long soft branches like tendrils touching her face. She lay underneath the dark sky and fell asleep. 

On the white beach coloured pebbles waited for her and the blue ocean beckoned…



*In a faraway land, over a tall mountain ridge, lay the small hamlet of Tu. Everyone who lived there belonged to the same family. All the men were called On, and all the women had the name of Ona. Their ancestors came to the valley from an unknown place, and since nothing was ever written down, it remained a mystery. They called it Tam, and often dreamt about it. But everyone’s dream was different, which made the mystery so much more mysterious. With each generation the dreams became longer and more colourful, and the citizens of Tu spent more and more time sleeping. They had thick curtains in the windows and ate only once a day. There were many animals and plants in the valley, and it soon became clear, that they too were dreaming.

(to be continued)


It is hiding in the corners

Lurking just out of sight

Weighing heavy on my chest

Invisible Succubus

Reality unchained




By whose measure?

And why fear it?




Art: John Henry Fuseli

The Nightmare