I live in the world of signs, colours and metaphors that stand between me and the grey world outside.
The smell of emotions... Love of the vanilla fragrant.
Thoughts dreaming inside the entangled long hair.
I learn languages just like I learn people. The older one gets the more difficult it is to learn a new language, to learn how to read a new person. I learn patience as I scribble the letters in my little notebook and feel amazed to discover how the worlds of unknown signs slowly allow me to discover them on a board of a moving bus. I learn the letters so that one day I could learn words and grammar. I don't want to be a curious student who stops education at learning some phrases overheard here and there, I want to learn about the shapes of letters so that later on I could complete the puzzle of words around me. I want to immerse myself in the language so that one day I could even write my own stories.
I want to stand in a shade of a colourful tree and look around the garden, just like my mother did when I was born to a 42 year old woman.
I look at animals - free souls of birds flying in the sky. Green parrot's squawk when she complains secretly about the harshness of the world. The cat that keeps his head on my shoulder as we drift towards the lands of dreams. The dog that curls himself next to my feet. The mouse hiding somewhere behind the corner.
I am the chief commander of my army of words that run towards the battlefield knowing that defeat awaits them there every single day. Battlefields and markets are the places where I don't belong. My little government school had no funds to teach me how to trade the heart, they spoke of revolutions instead.
I dream of evenings spent at the threshold with stars above me and an oil lamp lit somewhere in the corner. A wrinkled hand of an old woman. A letter from the past that was found in the present. Memories and dreams intertwined in vapour flying away from a cup of hot tea.
The smell of emotions... Love of the vanilla fragrant.
Thoughts dreaming inside the entangled long hair.
I learn languages just like I learn people. The older one gets the more difficult it is to learn a new language, to learn how to read a new person. I learn patience as I scribble the letters in my little notebook and feel amazed to discover how the worlds of unknown signs slowly allow me to discover them on a board of a moving bus. I learn the letters so that one day I could learn words and grammar. I don't want to be a curious student who stops education at learning some phrases overheard here and there, I want to learn about the shapes of letters so that later on I could complete the puzzle of words around me. I want to immerse myself in the language so that one day I could even write my own stories.
I want to stand in a shade of a colourful tree and look around the garden, just like my mother did when I was born to a 42 year old woman.
I look at animals - free souls of birds flying in the sky. Green parrot's squawk when she complains secretly about the harshness of the world. The cat that keeps his head on my shoulder as we drift towards the lands of dreams. The dog that curls himself next to my feet. The mouse hiding somewhere behind the corner.
I am the chief commander of my army of words that run towards the battlefield knowing that defeat awaits them there every single day. Battlefields and markets are the places where I don't belong. My little government school had no funds to teach me how to trade the heart, they spoke of revolutions instead.
I dream of evenings spent at the threshold with stars above me and an oil lamp lit somewhere in the corner. A wrinkled hand of an old woman. A letter from the past that was found in the present. Memories and dreams intertwined in vapour flying away from a cup of hot tea.
