Tag Archives: dreams

Amazing traces…

Please watch before reading, and listen while you read:

The Idan Raichel Project – Hakol Over (Everything passes)

Idan Raichel clip 2

I need you to dream the colour of spaces,
the time between midnight, tomorrow and trees,
I beg you to fathom amazing traces,
layers of clouds returning to seas…

I dare you to picture small shells of forgiveness,
buried within improbable fields,
requiems sold to merchants of stillness,
swordless battles of useless shields…

I want us to marry in a destitute chapel,
by ministers chanting untimely hymns,
with broken pieces of soft marble,
exchanging a lifetime of broken dreams…

Abandoned eagles…


A flow of matter,
crossing bridges
paved with idle rivers,
of constant wars between no sides,
for kings and kingdoms rather old…
How bitter all the odds,
when knights die young
and simply for no reason,
alone with horses
mourning by their sides,
while all the humble flowers
of each season,
spell intricate mementoes
on their hides…

How strange each morning,
when misty eyes set memories
on fragile pages of honesty.
Uprooted trees of good
and bad, and life and evils,
abandoned eagles,
nesting in my chest…

Rejoice my queen,
you’ve got no symptoms
of anything to give you rest;
I’ve got some tea, you bring the branches
of something better,
never best…



stabbed was I
by anyone who came into my own…
invited them I
and felt ashamed at being naked,
trapped between my why…
and theirs…

shalom’s all gone
unlost, unfound,
and bound to understand.

reflected image Narcissus,
of frozen sand and leaves,
an echo cleaves
to your distorted image…

water has never been a good reflection of our wanted innocence…

ask Noah…

Picture: sao2005


…so fragile


when tender mercies mourn
above forgotten mornings,
with sand beneath the alabaster dreams,
how few the sounds are
of unsung old memories,
unworthy on the parchment of what seems,
to be just shallow
echoes of some senses,
long buried
in my bloody battlefields.

they’re all Moriahs,
all my hills and mountains,
with stairs cut deep into my veins;

they’re mine the treasures,
mine the earnings
of all the bloody,
barren rains…



Poor eyes,
framing a storm of melting senses,
painstakingly written
all over a canvas of dreams…

Poor brain,
hunting a hoard of images
too pure to remain
sounds of a melting echo…

Poor heart,
unbeaten by what order
would have murdered for…

Perfect it seemed,
and bound to freedom…

with, and without the Salvador…

Skin crumbs…

A new year?
Crumbs of an old, wept over…
lumped into unslept dreams…

As time goes by,
skin turns slowly
into another shade
of your younger soul…

De Profundis…

Ecclesiastes of A Job…

Of despair my heart is bleeding,
Something wrong must have happened today,
Pieces of breath, frozen singing
Memories searching their way.

No more, no shore departing,
No dreams to brag about,
Cowards and dogs shouting,
Swans never flying south.

Tender whatever with roses,
Bitter garment of thorns,
Open which nobody closes,
One good for a thousand of wrongs.
I told you that morning, mother,
I do not want to be born,
To be the next; another,
Boring duty to mourn.