Book: Poetry and prose

You always feel younger than their years. I kept my old faces like tree - rings. This is the sum of what is "mine". The mirror reflects only my latest face, I know your all the same.

Time is not a straight line, rather a labyrinth, and if in the right place your ear pressed to the wall, you can hear hurried steps and voices can be heard on the other side of himself, passing by.

The school had a choleric divas who could the main part of the lesson to devote to the erection of the tower of hysterical indignation, all in order for there to pour out the Cup of his anger.

I lie in bed, arms outstretched.
I am the anchor, which is buried how to
holds a huge shadow, it floats up there,
the great unknown, part of which is myself and which is probably more important than me.

I - the gutter for impressions.

The truth here on the earth,
but no one dares to raise it.
The truth lying in the street.
But no one itself takes.

I - an old tree with withered leaves, which still hangs and can not fall to the ground.