I decided to write something different – to tell the truth, I didn’t decide to write it, it just came out without me knowing it. This is not a poem, so don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just a little thing we call nothing -and it is also rather personal.

<Dear Someone, please don’t ever leave me alone

Perhaps I’ve been in this state of loneliness

For as long as I can remember

However, I feel that when I’m with you

Time stops and my loneliness leaves me helplessly

In love with your time

-the time you spend with me>


<For someone like me, who doesn’t know  who she is

It’s extraordinary to watch his overwhelming confidence

Maybe if I’ll look at him more often

I will become more like him, and less like me

But I know that’s just a taradiddle

Because I can’t possibly look at him more

than I do now
Watch him all the time, that’s perhaps the only thing

I can do with Confidence>


<I cannot possibly renounce

And abandon myself and my beliefs

But it’s a strange, real story

One always puts on stand-by his beliefs

When there’s an unavoidable circumstance.

One doesn’t forget one’s beliefs

One makes them stop for a minute or two

Just to avoid breaking up with everyone else

in this rotten, stupid world

-and that saddens me greatly>


<The words I write today are helpless

it’s been a while

-from when I starved for words.

It struck me one day, when grandma was sick

that boredom cannot be surpassed

and dreariness sometimes commands chaos

– I can’t write coherently

but I can’t stop writing >


< This is like a bad journal

A diary one keeps involuntarily

There are so many worries I cannot express

I want to fall asleep soundlessly>


<Somehow I think that everything one reads

has to be charged with overwhelming meanings

And the author himself, no matter how incoherent or stupid

is capable -sometimes- of shaking someone else’s peace.

It’s great, and scary

how alike we, sometimes disgusting humans beings,

are and can now and again become>


<Someone once said she doesn’t understand Shakespeare’s style

she demanded the alteration of his entire style -converting Shakespeare’s vocabulary into modern language

I say, why not kill Shakespeare entirely, if we are at it?

I used to love Shakespeare’s works -and I still do

-there are so many ways in which you can kill a person

but if you want to murder an author with cruelty

all you have to do is modify or destroy his original works

-or, well, you know, at least those already modified by hard-headed editors>


<I wonder if I will ever remember what I write now

It’s perhaps my first time trying something like this

In my state of decrepitness

-that often comes and destroys bits of me-

it’s the first time I write incoherently

trying to get rid of the emotions I cannot express properly>


<There are times when people know how they feel

But cannot express it in words.

Right now, I am the same

No matter how much I try

I cannot express anything I feel

-it’s like Issa’s blank haiku (the dew drop world)

that makes one shiver in distress  (is just a dew drop world)

It’s stupid -life’s arbitrariness

-it hurts (and yet…)>*


<On a blank page, I wrote words even I cannot understand

-words nobody will ever understand; not even me

or especially not me…>


<I have a thirst I cannot control

It won’t stop

-what can I do?

A fever I caught from nowhere

Should I lie down and sleep?

I feel -and not feel- nothingness>


<Do you understand?

I never understood,

no matter how hard I tried.

Maybe because all I could think of

was going back to him>


<I don’t know what love is

But I feel a certain warmth inside

Whenever I am with him

There’s nothing to worry about anymore

-I believe I am a helpless prisoner>


<Won’t you tell me

that you waited for my return?

Is it too much to ask? -one should never ask to be missed

One cannot ask it

And the other can’t possibly do it, unless the other feels it.

There’s nothing more relaxing

than resting in your eyes.

Easiness -something I desire>



<Nothingness -nothingness

That’s a word nobody knows how to use

but we are a few who think about it

Nothing we know about nothingness

only feelings we are deprived of –

Emotions we know not how to call>.


*Issa‘s haiku (inspired by the death of his daughter, after a series of many other tragedies)

<tsuyu no yo wa tsuyo no yo nagara sari nagara>

(the dew drop world is just a dew drop world

and yet, and yet…)

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