A Cinnamon Afternoon. Adrian Tanase
we became close friends
sharing crackers, bread, and nuts,
and occasionally cashew and pistachio
as an exchange
of our wooden
and genuine love.
we dream together
in the afternoon,
of a life of leisure,
where I write books
and it rejoices
in my simple presence,
forever, never changing form,
or appearance or even age,
so we can be friends
and write stories side by side,
in this sweet and continuous,
suspended time.
7.
in your grandparents' house
you look for old chairs,
where old memories would sit
to wait just for you.
in a long-forgotten time,
that big white cup of coffee
and that fresh scent of apple pie
are your only friends,
in an empty wooden kitchen
where no one has been
for years.
cozy and surreal
is your day
while looking through
the kaleidoscope
of times,
where you can only see
geometrical shapes
and split images,
of your golden past.
8.
a square painting
of a ballerina
is taking a break
from a busy day
at work
in the silent museum
just a few roads down
on Kensington street.
its wooden frame
quiet, in its nature,
is thinking about
how squares are preferable
to circles or even triangles,
in this two dimensional world
where it is living
a simple and quiet life.
no one has ever cleaned
the dust that accumulates
over time
on this painting
where the ballerina always dances
when there’s no one around.
9.
where does my life start,
and where does it end,
only oranges or an apple
can tell.
they always enjoy being
in a fruit basket,
for as long as
they are not desired
by anyone
and their sweetness
and flavor
spread like a silent scent
in the morning.
they dream
about the times
when they were only
visitors in this world,
and when no one seemed to notice
their existence.
10.
the old writer
came to visit us
today,
at our coffee shop
and suddenly,
the whole atmosphere changed.
it is now clear to me,
that his characters
live a regular life,
and pay their rent
in universes
where letters and symbols
form their own time-space
continuum;
when he speaks,
all of his worlds blend with ours,
and create intricate patterns
of reality and imagination,
like drawings
in a surrealist painting,
where form always seems to
change and transform.
we only have here
an espresso machine,
where we always make free coffee
and deliver a bit of
scented inspiration
for every person that visits us
from time to time.
11.
a basket of fruits
that was resting in the sunny shade,
has fallen asleep
to dream of the other worlds
where the sky is orange
and girls have violet eyes
with a green
fluorescent tint.
the same basket of fruits
is spreading a scent of forgotten lilies
in the surreal attempt
of becoming someday
a fantasy writer
that has found one of his books
a thousand years in the future.
12.
remembering the times,
when sacred geometry
was cuddling with cookies and biscuits
and their flavor was the only
currency they had.
a world that was before
anyone can remember,
written deep within
in the very fabric
of our existence
is lingering as a ripple,
in my emotions.
this afternoon,
I tried to eat
curiously, a yellow triangle,
wondering if it will be sweet enough
to make me understand again
this mundane
world of form.
13.
dices and Rubix cubes
in a surreal
three-dimensional dance,
are rotating slowly in a silky room,
with tiled floors,