Wednesday, May 24, 2017


Because I keep many blogs, many people ask me: "Where does your inspiration come from?" Well, I really don't know. I haven't travelled a lot, so I cannot say that I get inspiration from the many things I've seen or from the many people I've met. In fact, I haven't met many people in my life. I have a very quiet life and work from home, and I don't have a lot of friends.

I read a lot, though. But the things I write have nothing to do with the things I read. I write when I feel inspiration... and here I go again: where does it come from? 

I believe that one day this eager to write will disappear. It will be gone mysteriously, just like it came to me one day. I don't think there's a way to control it: I just sit down and write when I think I need to. It's like a very delicate thread that I hold in the air, and someday a strong wind will blow and take it away. 

Some people think I'm a writer. I don't agree. Writers write professionally and make a living out of it. Writers take writing seriously; I don't. It's just fun. Although there are people who have told me I'm talented, I doubt if they were telling me the truth or just trying to make me happy. Whatever the truth is, I really don't mind. I write because it makes me feel good. It's something beyond other people's judgment or approval. 

I write because I write. Just because. 

Monday, May 22, 2017


Little drops of rain
Dropping one by one
On the flower petals,
On the window pane.

They knock on the glass
And they say: “Remember!”
They turn into puddles
That splash on my fender.

Little drops of rain
Presents from the clouds
Wash away my fears,
Clearing up my doubts.

I look through the window
And sigh as they fall
My  whole world is  wet,
-From my eyes they fall…

Thursday, May 11, 2017


I know
That she knows
That I know
What I know.

That's why
She's scared
Almost losing

She knows 
That I know
That she knows
That I know
What I know.

Tuesday, May 2, 2017


I think was asleep
When I heard the steps that crossed the room
And stopped right behind 
My sleeping body.

I think I was asleep
When I felt cold hands on my back
Shaking me, removing my covers
And exposing me to the coldest breath.

I think I was asleep
When I felt icy fingers moving on my shoulders,
And stopping at my neck
Pressing gently, then, strongly.

I think I am asleep
While I fly over the top roofs of my neighborhood
And look at everybody down there
Waking and walking out of their homes
Without being able to see me.