Thursday, April 23, 2015


Pargipingil

Mu läbi siidi kahiseva pluusi
üht südant kuulen
- ja Sinu süda tuksub ka.

Tunda, hoomata ja
vaikselt soovida,
et Sina tunneks ka:

Haavaleht mis värisemas tuules,
väreledes maha langeb
külmast väriseb mu ihu kaasa selles…

Kas kujutlus vaid haavalehtedest.
Ju ühtemoodi värelemas me,
sel sügisesel pargipingil.

Mälupildi kaasas kannan
ja vaikselt soovin, et Sa mõistaks,
sest sõnadessse seda ju ei lao.

On nii nagu on, nii meile tundub
ja ometi me värelusist väreleb maailm.
On jääv vaid tundmus meie südames.

Vana koolipink

Üks vana koolipink vaid teab,
mis noore mehe südames;
ta hinges tüdruk roosapõsine,
kes olemuselt asjalik ja tõsine.

Saab tüdruk tunda mehepoja lembust.
Läeb koju kirjutab vaid värsiread:
Su tundmused ma arvasin
vaid takupäise poisi nali,
iial ma ju poleks nõnda teind…

On läbi uste, läbi südame ja ihu,
üks pilk
kui teisel andmas suud.
ja kiirelt suudlus raugeb huulilt,
on noore mehe pilk tal läbind südame.

On kõigevägevamgi raputamas pead:
Oh palun lõpeta see suudlus
tundetu, kui suudleks lubjat seina.
Tal soov on joosta noore mehe juurde,
ja nuttes põlvili  siin  seda kahetseda:

Su tundmusi ei naeruks soovind panna.
Ma polnud arugi ju saanud-
on poisikesest sirgund mees.
Kuis mõni küll nii noorelt rohkem mees,
kui see, kes ennast nõnda suudeldes on teostand.

On kirjaread ta sinna koolipinki sundind
ehk mõistab vana koolipink,
mis tüdruk tema lakist läikivasse palge  tätoveerind.

Ja vana koolipink vaid teab.:
Siin süda tähed, nool.
K see olen mina,
kes armastab sind igavest                                                                                             Ja R see oled sina.

Liblikapüüdja

Mu mehejõuga embusesse haarad,
mis samasuur, kui on su ahastus,
Kontrollimatult kirge välja purskad,
nii üheks hetkeks vaid.

Ma rapsin nagu elu päästes,
meeletuna  kogu oma väes.
Ja uskudes, et see on lõpp
Sa avad pihud – nii lihtsalt nagu liblikaga,
et tiibu mitte muljuda, ses oma kirejõus.

Kui sõge jooksen nii kuis jalad kandvad.
Ons kirg see – või armastus.
Kust võttis selle taevaliku jõu,
et nõnda-nii mind hoida.

Jään sillal seljataha kaema,
et kas ehk jõuab järele.
Mul soov on kuklal poisi hingeõhku tunda,
mus tärkab soov ta juurde minna ja talle seda öelda.

Tänapäevani ei tea ma miks, miks jooksin?
Vaid jäänud mälestus, kui elu kauneim hetk.
Kui sinu raudseis väes mu ihu jõuetu.

Liblikarüüdja ll
Ju oma kaunist ihu oled kaua peitnud,
et haiget mitte saada.
Ei saa ju vägisi ei jõuga, sest liblikröövik pole valmis veel.
Las naerda rumalad:
Näe röövik teeb seal oma käike.

Kuid saabub hetk-rüü rebit toore jõuga
Ja hetkega on tiivad selga kasvand
-nii ehmunult seal seisab sinu ees.

Rüü hõbetolmust kübetki ei väära,
vaid hetke igavikulise soovid hoida veel
Siis avad pihud, et mitte vigastada ihu,
saand litreist sädeleva peo.

Ju valgus peagi tiibadelt on kustund,
ta igavikku  teel.
Seal talvevaikuses see tüdruk vaikselt nukkub,
jääb meenutama poisi kirge veel.

Triibuline hommikmantel

Sünge äiksepilve ne kohal,
vaatab sünkjal-mustal pilgul.
Pahandades poissi tüdrukut ja tolmu sõitleb.

Päkavälgatusel riideis jõkke lahmab,
metsikuina vastuvoolu rahmab.
läbi naiseihu paistab vikerkaaar

Triibulise hommikmantli poisilt laenab,
õe kapis on neid veel küll.
Pulstund juuksed sõrmil harjab, paljas ürp vaid üll.

Oma soovid endal hoiab,
päevameenutusi maalib poiss:
Triibulises hommikmantlis tüdrukut seal suudleb ta.

Nõnda vaikselt kumbki omasoodu.
Taganurgas tiksub kell,
äiksetormist vapustuna ärkab ellu veel.




Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Impossible mission with impossible love


Hey soldier I was wrong -
 Bullets, Desert and the Sun
those are things where you belong
Whose fantasy is warfare - where
 killing has been too long.
 Risking your lives for better world ..
 is the most right thing to do
 I hope one day we understand
 what troops  are fighting for
 
I am sorry - I didn't tell you true
the mission soldiers of the Peace - remind me
Flower song and Crying wives and Love impossible.    

With all my heart - to the soldiers of the Peace,
The World needs You.

Modern Aladdin


Sanctuary

Once upon a time. She (miss W) told the story to Omar. It took place on the Church.

W: Once upon a time, there lived a man.  Did He come from Arabian countries or  from North Africa, it  doesn’t matter . He was a Dark man. He met a European Christian woman and so they fell in love. Why did this happen – nobody knows. The woman found the man’s eyes  distracting – they were dark like  a desert night. The woman knew, that those eyes do not lie.

„The man was crazy about the white woman….?“

Omar (distract):„He was not so crazy about the white woman – more  he  liked woman`s intellect.“

W:„Ou, ? Täitsa pekkis!!??.(==owerijgosdij??(%!) (trans. engl. ou, F...).

Devil on W shoulder

Devil on W shoulder: „Tell him because he liked, that the woman liked being half naked,“……  „Talk about the woman`s silky skin and her body,“

W: „Because she had….He, she, he… blue eyjjjjeis…“ 

Grandmother  always warned her:“ DON`t go with a Muslim boy. They invite you to their beautiful land and sell you  for good money in to a harem.“  Grandmother died soon.

But the fact was, that a white woman fell in love with a Muslim boy. The World had never seen this kind of beautiful love.

The time has come, to introduce him to her relatives. Of course her Aunt fainted, Dad got a heart attack and brother said: “If you cheat my sister – I’ll kill You!“

Aunt, father and brother

The woman had many enemies. One man who never got her…he put their story onto the Internet.

Omar sighs indignantly.

ISIS terrorist caught the woman and cut her in to pieces. As the terrorist custom is- they killed a man in a terrible way too.

Jesus on the cross, in the  Church, look at nanarrator and asking: “Is this supposed to be a childrens story?!“

Jesus

W: „Yes I guess. It is a legend and legends are always very sad stories. Ok! After that, in the desert, red flowers had grown out of every pieces of woman.“

Jesus:“ Is your purpose to offend Omar?“

W: „I  was   there!“

Jesus: “ Stop yelling at me. They didn’t cut you…“ ( It was true. The W. was long time ago in the Arabian Land and Jesus saved her.)

W:„It was only thanks to You!“

Jesus: “Please continue.“

W:„It is all between You and Muhammed?“

Jesus :„You don’t understand anything. Continue.“

W: „kK! Terrorist never cut them and … they lived happily ever after.“

Jesus in the cross: „You have no reason to be a angry.“

W: Okay! The Story Continue. They were smarter than them… and they made themselves a new identity. The man became a rock musician and the woman became Geisha from Japan. And undercover , they also fought for World Peace. Nobody was interested in  the story about a ??? and musician, because there already was the Yoko and John.“

Omar: „ Very sad story. To You now! Our country ….we currently have a Ramadan….This is a very nice cafe.“

W:„This is not actually a Cafe -- it is  the Church.  Omar, can you tell me why people are violent and so stupid?“

OMar: „Thrones kill peaceful inhabitants. What should they do?“

She knew this story (she and Omar) wasn’t going anywhere, and she didn’t know what to do.

W: But in this story, if a Muslim man and a Christian woman were killed... There is no such thing as faith and true believe. There are only those who want and incite violence. Who protects whom - say that? Where is there Love in this world? Power and money and those who demand their rights- it rules.

W. was sad and all of a sudden realized that she really understand something, but the world can’t.

„Turn your other cheek forward when someone hits you.“ That’s not how suffering ends!

Who wants to cause suffering and violence to others? W want peace in the world as we all do. If these thrones did not kill the peaceful population – yes, a terrorist would survive too….

If only it were possible - the governments of the world give "them" (warriors) an area, plot of land for fight...where they can fight each other and leave us (peace lovers) alone!

“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”(Albert Einstein)

Creative bacterium

One creative bug, once woken up,
will still in circles go.

With my friends - there is something wrong
– that the bug has not affected him – not yet,
Should I think:
“How good it is, he does not suffer from this disease.”

Where does he take this shining strength -
Genius man, wings gotten from a muse.
And he flies through the heavens
above the clouds and lo,
-there he sits with angels go.

Friend, like an ant, circles around,
and coughs throat clean of everything.
“Today I am a healthy man”
“Should we really infect him with, this
disease so mad?”

But the little bug – a virus like,
It grinds to closer.
He appreciates Friend’s eye view.
At long last: Friend´s throws the drill and plaster to the corner
and runs amuck to  house Creativ.

A Morning Poem

A little small bugs
Stumbling on my bread.
Too small, too little.
Not feeling loved.

The name could be Fondness.
But this you cannot feel.
And hold in your arms.
If love is such a thing,
That cannot be touched,
That you can only feel.

A little small bugs,
Are we then?
We wish to be, every one of us,
Want to be at least a General.
In reality we are just small and general.

But still we are so special,
Every one of us.
Should it be understood,
this way what  you do?

Horseman and sitar player

Can forgiveness be a whisper of the wind,
if I forgave, that You did not, stay with me.
Can forgiveness be the sound of string?
If You forgive me, that I am not your muse.
The wind carries sand dust out to fields.
In that golden pillow from hooves,
there is Your Forgiveness.
The Rain strokes the soft sitara strings
I hope the Message gets to You,
My Love  –
please understand;
I could not  too the otherwise,
I couldn’t.
You let Your bridle loose
and the horse galloping on a lonely way.

Seals’ life

When life is like a breath at last
– and I remember in my memories:
As hunter cornered seal,
the seal thinks his life around at last:
And to mind come sunshine, water foamy,
and grass reed sticks to boat sides.
Sun style lost into the sea
and spreads colors over world.
Water sloping from an oar stroke.
I was happy then!

Modern Soviet snowflakes

Snow so glimmering and so pure
glazed upon  Santa’s coat.
Thickly speckled glistening an the collar
on childhood’s play toy from Moscow.
No-one knows or remembers him,
with Slavic-pattern felted shoes,
that’s old Santa- Frozt
See what old guy’s attics holds;
With children’s toys he`s survived the thawing – 
the long republic time,
and will survive you too.
Times both good and bad
depend on the mind,
Hate and disease are what we say.

Old Santa-Frosty will wait for the children 
either way.
Bearded and so mellow. Multi-color,multi-language
children waiting for.
 Gloves left at fireplace, so Children read the winter-verses,
and they nothing know about the government and climate.