I turn my head to the east... looking for the days than never existed
I can still see the purple sun

The jar on her head... in my head, my eyes not sure if it was the dream
My memory never lies

I walked in the street, I touched the pillars
Frozen colours, the nice afternoon

I went for that fantasy’s hunt... but it was over

I kept the light... and lost the dream

…Alara once again…

A happy child, as we are all, as we should be… a strange statement to declare … over confidante… perhaps we should be always happy.

Alara, the girl with Almonds and the golden puppies… her arms wide open hugging the life, chanting perhaps in that melodic Turkish voice, that one day some of my ancestors spook… Happy.

Shall I dance with Alara or let the fairy dance in my mind… that hair of hers… fiery colour of a fauve… that happy face… in my eyes, those clear eyes it must be a fantasy to look deep at them.

Alara dancing… turning and hugging life… taking the beauty from life and reflecting back that beauty in the eyes of any body looking at Alara, spreading that fine feeling of sweetness of life… that simple feeling that always exist around us, waiting for us to gather somehow, sometime.

The dawn is almost there
Coming over the wings of seagulls
Calling from my window
Six hundreds brick to build the bridge

Are we there yet?

I can’t see Godot

Those lands that reflect from the windows
The brown soil and the green grass
The priestess is waiting
The monk is muttering

Where is Godot?

The dawn is yawning
The sun is coming
The seagulls still calling
I am looking from my window
Six hundreds brick to build the fort

Are these enough

Godot didn’t show yet

The sun is rising
The temple is fading
The monk is sleeping
I am backing away
Six hundreds brick in that wall

Will Godot ever come?

When every time I see storms coming
I feel that I am going to wake up

My sweet dream
You will not continue
I can not feel you enough
Fading with illusion in my head

Sweet Love
I can not put you even in words
The words are there
Hidden in the time
But the time can not begin

You are like all the colour of the spring
In a hidden divine paradise

A Queen
And your people is only me
A God … a religion
And your worshipper is only me

You are scared and I am broken
There is too much space can be between us
Too much ice can form

My heart is burning
That ice could soon melt
Because my eyes can’t see better sky
Than the sky of your eyes

Oh Jerusalem of the west
Your soil buried the Fenians and the Brits
Your faith … your cross … your heart
The stones are all around

I wish if he was here
King Solomon and a sword
Like a the child will slice you
But who will shed the savior’s tears

(I enter to the British Islands competition with this, and it was selected, but it was not published because I did not return the form of copyright)