.

if you let it
you can discover worlds
secrets
if you let it
write, emerge, come
you can visit
corners of the hidden places
sweep
yourself

Saturday, 23:30, Budapest

I'd cry. Budapest.
7 months of nothing.
7 months of my life.
Somewhere in my heart.
Somehow it hurts.
It's beauty (in hungarian style maybe)
Corvin cinema passage,
more broken again.
Prater street boys, not Paul's.
And the cafe, yes, now tears are coming.
Intimately known turnings.
Every step familiar
until that corner from where I see.
Serhat is home?

Michelle is not. She parties with Marta.
Too late to go.
Too late.

And the mattress:
We've made love here.
I've cried so many times.

Millions of small pieces.
Broken mirror, not the simple puzzle.

And the fish is hanging from
the lamp, more colorful than
ever.

Budapest. You old, secret lady.
You don't let one to get close
easily. But you take hearts.
Fully.

from HeartBeat

where is the truth
where is sense
we are lost
searching

not knowing is the ground
to start from

and heart
is there
deep in the waters
flowing with the rhythm
slightly connected
to the ground

dance dance dance

there is a light
in front
and a lot of bushes shading it from where i stand
every time i want to follow
i have to cut the branches
to reach it
to move it
to let it meet
my darkness

after comes
the easiness of angels