tale of a verse: the endless gesture called living

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

THE CITY SOUNDS

my heart in a meadow,
my mind in the city sounds,
my road runs along the sea of dreams,
I am before the world,
along with my empty pockets
and the eyes get filled with the remembrance,
I pass by my dream, then open the door,
a door,
a shot, a thought, a beckoning.

11:05am
Jan 1, 2014
in art BLUENIGHT

LIFE

a cry in the night that can only go through a life,
that life ,
maybe, but for all that,
it can be,
thrown away in the river,
a broken-up life,
then I walk over breathing a new day,
as well as a new night,
I can only dream of my dream,
alongside a narrow hiss,
what I may think about my ship,
and what it may be,
I have only got my life, that stood-in blow in the air,
a breathed dream goes through a new road.

11:41am
Jan 1,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

THE RAIN

the rain stands along the mantle of the sky,
a splinter,
a rip-off is thrown by the world,
and washes up all that stands around there,
dreams that walk along this road go at sunset,
then want to look,
and want to let you know all that.

23:45pm
Feb 2,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

AN ECHO

I am confused,
another throwing into the world,
another throwing just to speak,
a blow,
some shadow inside the half-lit mist,
the words broken, murmurs to suggest,
like the branches thrown by the wind, into the water,
around a contact: an echo.

00:03am
Feb 21, 2014
in art BLUENIGHT

ANXIOUSLY

anxiously,
and without shame,
a sea slipping on the skin, 
to dry it up along a desert 
where the words inside a drop are embedded into a rose.

16:01pm
June 28,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

DROPS

every falling drops like your word whispers to heart.

12:14pm
May 9,2006
in art BLUENIGHT

DUBLIN

the first attempting escape is failed: Dublin

November 26, 2014
in art BLUENIGHT

EVERY CENT

each and every cent 
and each and every minute is compared.

November 28,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

CLOTHING

I have worn the clothing.

01:52am
November 29, 2014
in art BLUENIGHT

THE POCKETS

do you hold some feelings in the pockets of yours?

13:16pm
November 29,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

Who knows why

why not now?
Who knows why, White pages like the sky,
shut in a curl and the sound-moved ferments of a clock.
An instant like history; your story blends into time.

in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

ROAD E311 end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

THE POCKET

My hand pocketed with the sky
in the closed palm
but without your heat.
The night is now dark.
As always with its stars’song
and then the wind hushes the sounds you left me.
There is only the bored pendulum
playing time,
with its tinkling like a rain
that comes down without any noise.
The dust livens the objects up,
the time’s hourglass, through its tinkling time
it cools down the night
by hiding the sky
I have in the pocket.

Tuesday,
01:02am
May 24,2011
in art BLUENIGHT

THE SILENCE

Your hand
where the nothing is as precious
as the sound in a room,
your hand wets me
in the stars
dragging our wind gazes,
on sounded skin by the light-warmth,
and we are in
that sound of our quiet thoughts,
and on our hands
there is the only star
through that room
put on a world’s edge.
Suspended we are in
a sole star in the room,
in an eyelash of the world.

Monday,
23:32pm
May 9,2011
in art BLUENIGHT

THE CLIFF

Love me,
why do you not love me?,
for the reason that
your love is inside me,
your name gathers the world
at the edge of my heart,
which I left
to the turbulent wind,
and the dancing sea,
to be inebriant puffs,
those phrases that give air
to your body, and break up
to the sound of my voice,
without leaving the noise of this cliff.

Friday,2:14am
August 12,2011
in art BLUENIGHT

THE WALLS

I can only slip into this world,
thus by stopping among the walls.

in art BLUENIGHT

LANGUAGE

the history.
Tales on a unique way fade away into the one
and only language of the sea.

20:30pm
November 16,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

THE SPACE

The space is limited but not the time.
Let me carve out a word

in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

ROAD E71 end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

THE WIND

left through another of its days,
a breathing more,
another to breathe
and to decant more,
the wind inside its wires
falling among tears
from the sky
that keeps on walking
through the clouds,
– the sun’s
the sound to mutter a nod of the dew –
the wind, you, the wind, a wire.

00:16am December 1,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

EVERYTHING

I found everything which could be along the Earth along the ground.

00:56am December 18,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

THE DOOR

a threaded brief light is stretching out away from the door,
splitting up that space in a line only;
a subtle dark has thrown into that light dark,
broke into knocking up its space and time.

00:59am December 18,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

A UNIVERSE

turning on the tv you will quickly set off a universe.

22:55pm March 26,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

A LIGHT WIRE

a light wire is oozing out all my body,
it is the night,
it is the light stretching forwards,
as a breathed sigh from a face falling down.

00:38am March 22,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

ONE ROOM LIKE ONE NIGHT

I am digging up the sea of words to look for a spark
that may light your eyes’ desire,
as alive as the starry sky,
and wet hands;
with your words to tear the night
from the star light,
by cooling down the water
on the soaked thoughts by the words,
splintered in the bright stars,
and with the light in your eyes
to fill in the space,
left by the trail of your warmth on the skin,
a star is lighting up the night all over;
an only room forever.

00:52am February 24, 2011
in art BLUENIGHT

A STAR

I will steal a star
to light up the sun
and hold your hands,
so that an instant lets the world know
about the time’s hush; a star,
the only light in our heart overflows with words,
written in our glances
in a whispering instant on your lips.
A coloured flavour
like a start on your
and my hands lighting our bodies
toward a deep glance:
a timeless instant.

1:20am March 10,2011
in art BLUENIGHT

MANTLE OF THE NIGHT

the night can only put its mantle on.

in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

ROAD E73 end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

A SOUL

the soul slips away,
and still slips along the mirror,
thin air being squeezed by the humidity,
drops of the skin wash
the whispered circles of daily life
on the limit of reality,
night and day;
they are an uproar of words;
colours collapse onto the ground
of thoughts,
emphasized by the vowels
that turn into sounds
to bias the flakes,
which are liquid of new ways
that agglomerate the mind,
tightening my hands
to the protruding edges of dreams,
coated and painted by the colour of the soul,
and by the skin
that smells of itself.

11:32pm July 23,2008
in art BLUENIGHT

ONE LIFE

One life thrown into another one,
from being written by the words of an unknown person
and by rambling into dreams,
being thrown to an inkened corner.
The volumes are the day of depth so it will turn into an eternity,
to where colours expand on giving eternity to their intensity
and yet on shutting at a breathing,
the night and the day always melt each other
by not stopping
and without that wind leaf through the pages.

1:14am June 3,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

THE WILD SIDE

leave your instinct to go away free, the wild side, your mood; do carry away with it till you break through.

11:11pm May 6,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

Every single moment matters
Like clouds always slide on across the sky.

in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

ROAD E75 end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

NEW BUILDINGS OF MOODS

my hands are tiring to hold
fast the one single world,
I am too sad to weep
and too merry to hail the sun.
it is the sea moving with morning moods
that came from the day before,
to get to be the new buildings of moods.
now the sea is weary.
the suave wind in its rooted breeze cherishes all that,
this is too much,
too much,
as a wave is fading away to the sound of the air.

January 26,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

THE MOVING STEPS

the glances’ grooves get lost
into the roads scanned by the time,
you could behold that brief pouring
to pulse the thoughts,
floating with each other,
and scattering across the moving steps,
along those paths,
as new as old,
just guess the city,
to give the clock a new time.

23:22pm February 04,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

Every single moment matters
 a new oxygen made of words is the one and only oxygen, 
 as a candle burns its fladoes slowly go on.

in art BLUENIGHT

SOULS

everyone get lost their places,
places like the minds keep on going forward,
souls meet another one,
and by then losing away,
bodies bind another one,
maybe,
the off-chance,
never splitting up,
an instant always gushes from gazes
around the fresh streets,
where the traffic lights break on through the sea sound.

20:09pm April 20,2016
in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

ROAD E66 end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

WAITING TO TELL A STORY

I can only slip into this world,
thus stopping among the walls,
a wet-winged angel in a corner road
waiting to tell a story,
smooth like filtered words,
flowing they seem like rain,
as a dream to paint upon the sea.
where the stars can look out
at the day waiting,
by hiding among those walls,
where to slip away with them.
I slip.

00:50am February 12,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

ALL ALONG THIS LIVING

How wonderful it would be to walk on the clouds of the sky.
what are you talking about?
be a man,
put your feet down on the ground, and do start growing up a little and thinking of business,
and of all that you will need all your lifetime.
I am sorry,
what does it mean those who paint and make art?
those ones are as the insignificant person with neither respect nor thoughts,
thereby they do count nothing at all along this living.
be true to life,
be as a man walking on the ground.
About understanding all that thought,
I ought to be as a dead man walking, by switching off my feeling and my mind, isn’t it right?
No dreaming day and night, here it is forbidden to do it, do start growing up and using your feelings for your daily living, and start switching on your feelings to satisfy your instincts.
And then do throw away your mind if you would like to dream.
While sliding away all of these words through the air, I turn back into nature, and just have looked over her as fascinating as can be for her ruthless beauty.
To where her wisdom is well pronounced among the lines of her meanings, and yet there I have looked back to see the human nature, its ruthless awareness, without meanings, the world set up by incomprehension and rationality coming from its understanding of what the same nature is.

16:01pm June 6,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

free play

a mere abstract – a mind’s fancy – a concept.

02:26am November 27,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

INGREDIENTS OF THE SOUP

The ingredients must be flavourless as well as odourless, and have to be badly mixed. 
Thus, to cook them properly, as in this case, you are going to serve the soup cold, and if there is, it is well of course that you make a check, the passion will have to be taken out, for the reason that it could flavour, as well as make it lukewarm. 
Another ingredient that has not to be missing is its expressionlessness, which must be devoid of taste. Thereupon, now your soup is ready. 
I am sorry, I forgot what its name is, it is called the artwork. 
The menu of the restaurant is menu of the economic business, and its cook is called critic, then, there is the waiter that is called art gallery manager. All is servedon the table of rationality.

2:33pm May 30,2012
in art BLUENIGHT

YOUR THINKING

your thinking
and the moon drags it along,
ever continuing to walk,
in the light from the night darkened
by the addresses dwelling,
the places that you know as the alleys,
and your words trample them over,
to make no sounds,
only the fragments are to be filled with you,
the corners of the pockets,
the river of the pages,
are small spaces,
like grains,
and you have only the wind
to think of the night falling down.

1:39am June 1,2012
in art BLUENIGHT

INSTANTS

why are you thinking about the time?
when the pulsing heart can tie the clock-hands,
instants upon instants
beating the time at the random sounds that live all that;
the time, the places go on where they want,
one inside the other
to spend themselves between those clock-hands.

01:48am June 1,
in art BLUENIGHT

A NOISE

no noise paints the wind,
it is only the rime of the night,
singing away its warmth,
in storming the corners of the past time,
the vacuum fills what remains,
the alleys, dragged by the warm sun,
left to the night,
which wanders along with the lights,
to what is the soft pages to write,
and the wind sweeps away the rime,
filled with the noises,
and filled with the whiteness of the sudden questions
from the shades of its sign:
a sound standing in the vacuum of the noises of the wind.

2:22am May 30,2012
in art BLUENIGHT

THE MOON

The moon at a window, passing through the light-and dark-studded clouds, overlooks the light and dark, sipping its moon rays; by giving the bodies some sinuous lines in the dreams’ shadow; vanishing sighs among the folds of an instant, and there to shade away as a shadow in the light and dark sky falling down on its furrows, decanted, damp of thoughts, runs to the warmth of a new day, the moon is gone, the sun, there is a long way to go.

02:13pm Nov 3,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

THE MILKY WAY

I am riding on the Milky Way. 
Colours and surfaces stay in a corner, a luggage never reclaimed, dreams, written, reclaimed, lived, thrown, undreamt, are dreams, on the edging of the edge over a reality, a ride that’s the dreaming, a ride, dreams’ every boundary, dreams of mine, dreaming and dreaming, a maze without ending speaks merely to fade, lightly but thickly as colours being undefined about the shape of thinking, only the shapes can be born till they fly away.

00:41am Nov 6,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

ROAD E573 end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

THE FATE

how come there never was a real hate when Dublin in its heart has always been sad for the fate reserved to its sons.

11:59pm March 24,2015
in art BLUENIGHT

DUBLIN

only Dublin would be able to give me all that,
that energy of living
as well as the spirit of struggling
on one own ideas
and freedom.

18:24pm December 12,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

CURLS

ever on high the sky splurges those curls,
shaded by the days,
brief corners like words said
burnt into an only breathing
through a brief space,
the sky,
always there high,
the wind to spend its alleys,
like a day of empty roads,
now the roads are smooth,
upon a newly dewed mantle of a new day,
and of a new sky.

22:41pm November 7,2014
in art BLUENIGHT
♫

A CORNER

a moment passed by, yet a light-year passed by,
a beckoning-in-deep iris from a glance thrown onto that palm of feeling,
a corner,
only air through the day you can only crumble,
one-way air.

01:50am November 30,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

A KISS

only a thought is flying over a remembrance,
left in a city corner;
only a short loose kiss into the rain,
a crying wetness,
the colours are shyly murmuring to you:
this day is another one to live,
yet another one.
You can only live that brief kiss.

00:36am November 12,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

TO BREATHE

I am a painter
and I lost a bit of myself in Dublin,
through a dream, on a pub street,
among people and dawns and sunsets;
only thoughts collected up into an only breathing.
I could only breathe,
and only live it all through the eyes of mine,
like a glance, their scent are always new and intense,
a unique

00:45am December 12,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

A NEW WALL

new rules are on the game: time and space.
Where?
into the mind, the blood, the body,
the heart and into the soul.
Why?
I had a loving meeting with a beautiful woman
–a unique and unmatched charm –
a single beckoning in the night walks
into the suffused moves of the soul,
like the stories.
the time, as a wind flows on,
and a clock has been painted on the street wall,
tells you only that uttered
silence without disturbing your thinking,
like a sweet-cradling in the easy faces of clouds;
you can only live all that,
and live intensely each one’s echoes
and each one’s beckoned page of your days.
An eternity is a scanned-sweet word in different places
and movements
as a moved beckoning fragmented into other ones,
where the space is like the beckoned floor only.
The direct-contacting air you breathe,
where the whole is concentrated and worn in you,
where the doors are in a measured speaking-of
like a wide beckoning-over of the open sea.
A space inside the time playing with the other one,
making up their own right way to you.
what I can say.
I have a new suit made of time and space.
Also a new living present as well as a new language,
from which I can throw it into every citycorner
and into every painted clock to stay on a new wall.

23:27pm December 17,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

LEAVES

the leaves are slipping away among the wind’s lines,
as a dream breaks up at the dawn;
a drawn clock is on a wall,
going to break up at the first moving time,
to leave behind only its heaps at the room;
where you can only break them up,
and scatter them for the last time.
Leaves with rhythm
keeping on falling down is a rhythm without a sequence,
like a desert carved by the wind,
and only a trackmade among the walls
curved by the wind ever slipping away with its days.

23:57pm December 21,2014
in art BLUENIGHT

DUBLIN SKY

because there,
walking into those sensations,
I looked at myself
and so I did look at that face,
that mirrored Dublin among the lights,
turning the shapes
by turning into new colours new thoughts
to fill up with the skin’s smells.
A river flows on its murmuring’s feelings,
squalls
thrown to speak about that untamed
scented footsteps,
and, I, walking,
can see the road’s edge,
a short thread links you to your life.
An instant without any sense,
a love painted on the wall
called Dublin sky.

1:21am January 21,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

SHE

I looked into her eyes. She gazed at me.
Trees,
buildings,
streets,
sounds,
images,
cracks,
the whole in each and every intense sound,
there to look up to the city’s infinity,
a unique way of living has spread up with the blood,
as some night to count the stars,
on the sea’s edge,
at night,
as some day that glance runs
along all your skin
up to the first dawn roadside.

00:47am March 8,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

WORDS

the words stand out into the night,
so a creaking came along,
now silence, there the words’ river is running on,
as a thread patches up this day,
by filling
the emptiness of those words left by the lived glances in the corners,
burnt into an instant
without words;
a sensation rides on the day
till it looks for a new creaking.

23:51pm January 26,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

EVERYBODY DREAMS

looking over each and every colour,
hung up on the canvas,
by gathering each
in search of a place
and every particular,
there all that is wrecked,
the darkness,
the real naught;
some coffee,
nevertheless that is what I need, a universe,
not even that, well, what is it?,
perhaps a dream,
perhaps to say a dream, or to speak of,
everybody dreams;
looking at a colour around its nuances,
it’s a universe
come up with its new indeterminedness
taking over each and every nuance,
randomly
in each of its nuances,
thoughts wander into the night,
in search of a place
where to dwell a while.

00:17am February 2,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

THE FRAME

The frame
encloses the colour of the
canvas,
dreams flow into the air
without hesitations or dreaming
your frame is fixed and encloses the world,
the fixed dreams on a reflection
about a one-way ticket,
expired to the clock’s eyes,
reflections without remembrance
flip through those pages
about the crowded road,
on a blind alley,
strings like frames,
the chords will be just right fading out
at the first word’s scent,
by gathering onto a canvas.

01:33am February 3,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

A LIT-UP STAR

I saw a lit-up star
between those dreams’ folds,
that suffused star does not speak,
sobbing there to utter the night,
yet it tries to improve the score
on that blue mantle,
only northward
you may see all that clearly,
where the stars speak to each other,
by adorning the sky:
only an instant
at night’s infinity
thrownbetween the stars.

02:05am February 4,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

THE DUBLIN STREETS

…walking, dreaming,
looking,
passing on the Dublin streets
…again, you will find it all
that different,
as well as a new corner to engrave on the mind
and to carve the words,
…your words from where the
intervals come into being,
spread out on the waves, made of that ground,
you may only flip through the colours
that you bring along.

02:49am February 5,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

I DO NOT FULLY UNDERSTAND

…I do not fully understand
all your frenzy to run,
to run away with your thinking
about having thought of some day,
and by trampling the road,
too sweated to grow up,
you do not think of just an instant ,
because you have to fool your thoughts,
and to wrap the words in the mind’s corner like a frame,
beautiful to see,
beautiful to suffer,
merely beautiful; now
I am running,
seeking a new word,
over there in the jungle of colours
scattered all over the nature of this world.

02:14am February 12,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

DREAMS

dreams,
the small-grained
stars light up the sky,
the universe flows among the moving of my dreams,
so giving some colour to the words
that I write down on the bed
with the warmth we have evoked
along all of the blue-mantled trail.
They wrap up
and paint us
in a new word on our hands;
the universe, passing by,
lights us up to dust us with the stars.
Our dreams’ ink is written on
the hourglass’ sounds of our breaths,
clinking to bloom at dawn
by fading away
with that blue mantle of our dreams
along the city streets.
… gliding over the surface,
colours have shut up the sounds,
the mood of a world’s glimmer has laid down
upon the sea’s edge,
your dreams,
a dream flips through the words
into the clock’s sounds,
the time reigns over the light;
… you may only take away that beckoning,
by fathoming the notes
through the infinite sound scattered
… all over the surface
to utter the day creaking
on the puddles of your thoughts, glide down,
block the colours,
tell your thoughts,
and then you will tell them your eyes.

02:18am February 27,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2018
Happy New Year
and
New Beginning 2018
hoping for new words,
sounds and images to catch up a new road whereby
new colours can give a life to new ideas.
in art BLUENIGHT

Impetuous the sea like the waving sheets, the wind with their words in that ink, fluttering sea with its colour, it flies up in a speck of rock to the brink of a thought.

DUBLIN end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

THE COLOURS OF THE WORDS

The shadeless colours, only the colours of the words,
wear the night,
without any dust at the bottom of the drawer,
a crowd in any noise is,
a flaring place up to other places- words.
Sounds grasped at the clock’s creaking nod,
fast walking, which plays your time,
plays its time,
only a shade in the colours of a coloured word.

00:06am Oct 26,2017
in art BLUENIGHT

THAT WOULD BE THE HEART AND SOUL

“Misery, only that.
a river running over my hands
like a veil I can not take off,
desires cradle the air,
sighs and tiny breaths,
thrown intermittently
about the scanning clock
singing its whiteness;
winds drift along the end-threaded walks,
night and day,
A window got stuck in the sunlight,
which warms the darkening moon,
souls are smiling at the foaming sigh
of a river riding its road.”

02:25am January 7,2018
in art BLUENIGHT

LOOKING AT THE STARS

the sky fell in the night,
I stand to look at the stars
on my hand,
by looking for your heart far away ,
as a book never opened,
only hung up on the floor,
a remembrance seeks out a shred of a crowd,
which speaks to the sky
about its colour,
winds,
hatreds and hopes;
stars lit up there
in the sky,
closing my hand
and that horizon’s glance,
now there the sky in the night is just going to go down again.

00:57am February 2,2018
in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

SINGING

the rustle is singing
the street noises,
bricks outlooking the sky,
soaked by writings,
and the blank winds
howling in the crowd ,
covered with the light of day,
and murmuring those new ruts coming
from that night plough the thoughts,
in the morning of a new day,
a word sings new noises on the wall,
among glimmers of colours:
the elusive footsteps.

03:18am February 3,2018
in art BLUENIGHT

THE DUMB TABLES

the words are
like the water in the desert,
well, what’s the issue?
both the words
and the water don’t exist;
therefore,
merely we live on and feed up the water,
to live on the words,
the cup of flavour is small,
and runs on daily unstopping,
not to give a sense colour
to sap us of ourselves,
blurring along the waves,
some watery water on the desert shore.
the words are few,
senses’ pillars
on guard to hold up the sounds,
uttered at each throb of chimes into the gaze,
but merely words they will be,
as senseless as soulless,
a returned empty,
at the breaking of the day,
and filled with words
blending into the faded-out shadows of the dumb tables.

00:57am Thursday, June 21,2018
in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

TONIGHT

The sky is blue,
A deep sea where to get at sleeping dreams
and to play with the signs’ bedsheet,
Tonight, you and I,
I and you inside
the blue-painted sea of dreams,
to scan another one into the sun rays,
so to make our words live on
they will scatter over the dreams’ folds,
there the deep sea is waiting for us tonight,together becoming the only flame,
a lighthouse amidst night,
and making that blue sky of our dreams light up,
tonight,
we will go for that coridor sighed once again,
you and I,
tonight.

00:45am July 02,2018
in art BLUENIGHT♫

THE PLACE

A place,
the intrinsic rivers,
As noisy and silent as
clouds’ wings scattering about the sky,
take shape
and urge their humming,
looking for the notes
that, outlooked, emerge from the dust
being grasped by moods,
souls like sounds,
seek out that score
anew to write down,
gnawing at the fears’ time,
having been spelt out by the clock,
off by the hourglass’ grains
and filled with the spaces thinned
all over the clinks of an endless journey,
suddenly once again another place
taking shape into a new river,
noisily winged,
writes down a new score
about a new day lived.

23:54pm September 18,2018
in art BLUENIGHT

THE SEA

the sea is grumbling,
living among the clouds grooved
with the wind
and in a calmness out of the thoughts’ time,
its rhythm,
as a groove at night,
no more goals to be written down,
but a reading only,
an open unending
filled with horizons runs past those notes,
the sparkling pages,
as fragmented as the wind’s splinters
inked up with the colours of the sighs,
dawns to settle down on the murmurs
to shake up the dreams,
lights, sounds and a word in a dwelling-anew sea,
here’s the wind giving shape to the sea,
and I now have got a new coat
to shelter me from that din
along the street creaking.

11:58pm October 8,2018
in art BLUENIGHT

DUST

in a world corner,
around the half-lit dustlessness lifted with footfalls,
a word was eager on its sound,
as an hourglass,
clinked with its grainlets along time,
a streetless fold was eager on its name,
and inkless in a world corner,
where the dustness lets itself shape into the wind
moved along that sound:
the dawn.

15:00pm October 22,2018
in art BLUENIGHT

THE ONE AND ONLY STAGE

a river of sighs floods up into the glance,
just a lapse of time,
painted in the sky,
the one and only stage to fill the mind
only with a groove of the light,
and the stars speaking
to one another off the gazes,
wandering,
and fickle lights play with shapes in blue notes,
as a lightless stage,
where the words make all the remembrances
and the vibrations become the simple spaces,
leaf through sheets that cradle the time,
hourglassed
by the incoming first cracks of the colourful rays,
rays,
a new crack will open over
this mantle into blue sighs,
up to trapping itself in the gazes
by playing with another groove of the light.

November 28,2018
in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! 2019
yet another dawn gazing into the endless white page writing itself down again in new words and new sounds…
a dawn, a new warmth to give to that fireplace called living.

in art BLUENIGHT

2018 end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

SOME ALIVE REMEMBRANCES

A moving reflection that is thrown
by the thinkings will be born in remembrances;
A gesture that has been written out
on the water will evaporate,
to contact the world; thus,
a moment,
the infinity as brief as to be forgotten,
is to paint the world
by not having the words to utter,
only the empties of verses
wandering into the big sea named soul.

in art BLUENIGHT

MERELY A DAY

only a day to say love me,
my beloved,
between the cries of the sky
that give shape colours,
written sighs making the stars’ days
that shine over the sky at night,
night, days,
where,
alone like writings
on the walls worn out with the gazes,
the wind thins the sighs along its walking,
by giving words more sinuous,
merely a day,
just that,
to fill the sky once,
giving footfalls a sound,
through a walking dawned in a day
so to say love me,
my beloved.

12:24pm Monday 7, January,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

WALKING

too long the road
to think over everything,
writings,
evoked,
that the tracks can not be read,
trickle away through time,
the rain,
remembrances are fading,
so doing dawn’s colours
to remember about the reflections
shaped with the book pages
giving off the flavour
hung around those gazes,
the one and only colours,
by that I can remember the sky,
too long the road gets,
too many sighs to close my eyes,
walking along the breaths on those skies
I get pocketed,
to rummage a new sign by putting it
along the road,
a new milestone like a remembrance;
walking.

09:47am January 9,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

A TEAR

a tear fell on that thought of farewell,
at a corner of the world,
enclosed in a feeling on a land so much loved,
to cover all over remembrances,
spent lapse of time burning on the words’ breath,
a farewell meant,
torn up away to catch on a feeling’s edge,
it was night,
it was dark,
an instant seemed to last a full life,
always a tear is,
but kept round it tracks the remembrances
down across the night’s stars,
a stream speaks through the sounds
on thoughts creaking thrown into the city mute flows;
thoughts wrapped the one and only tear round,
a road is made with remembrances,
and made up with the walking into the clock-hand,
now that tear stays over there,
around a world corner that will be carried by the wind,
breaking on through other remembrances.

10:21am January 28,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

A NEST IN THE FORESTOFD.

spending the time
on my thoughts made of sounds
that sing words become edges,
some ink painted by the sky
as being leafed through by the wind,
only a beckoning
around from the crowd,
velvety feeling,
an instant’s colours out, as an infinity,
music,
the music box I open
when the time gives me an instant,
a moment on a living,
a road to walk,
as the rain along the flower
in which a drop hung down,
over some short time of a blast
of breathing
while the sun rays
burst into its smile,
I walk through this mistiness
on words,
never uttered,
a new nest
by new wandering thrushes
close by the next dawn,
so spending a new clock‘s sound,
at the touch of the sound
of a new step: home.

02:20am February 9,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE SHOELESS MAN

to walk without a dream,
alongside milestones,
written into the rain about a remembrance,
worn out by the day only,
and by the night,
together their own frenzied dawns
and sunsets,
like a sentence quickly inks up to a breathing,
about a movement,
and slowly whispering alleys of the words,
soaked around the senses’ mad race,
the shoes were worn out
while the feet were meaninglessly empty of morning-layered dawns.

02:18am February 15,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE DAWNOFA NEW DAY

Thinking of a star feels
like thinking of the infinity,
a night kissed by the dawn of a new day that
enclosed all into the din,
and heard by the sky’s winged cantors,
so lively and merry
as to make the notes through a crack on a whisper,
stranded in the night, with no scents,
only a mild gentle hum speaks to a star
in the infinity,
as an uproar toned down
by the sky sings its own sweet light
throughout the great cradle.

02:10am March 2,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE DAILY LIVING

walking along that sea,
as a murmuring of a river
at each tweet;
and the hope searches to run aground
about the first rock
up to fading out into the daily living,
such a place as home,
by now a faded-out name
just to read into and to utter,
that sea,
a home,
as a translating word at night,
one which each invokes,
ungiven a phoneme,
by now that play has become an exchange currency,
as how are you,
what,
walking into the dreams,
the sea there has become some hope,
starry by the stars hung all over the sky,
and around that uncertain sea
called universe which all of us stand in.

9:40am July 1,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

YOUNG AT DAWN

Dawn,
a blue soul sister lingering on the dream edge,
left behind into a night
that enchants its rip-roaring colours,
so faint just caught on eyes,
as an inebriating writing in a summer dream,
as young as to dream vaguely of a sunset.

3:34am July 8,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

A LIVING GESTURE

the sea waves ride the words’ wide road,
the wind-built road walls,
the blue crammed night stars and
the day is enchanted with the night,
hours, lines bending down over the clear water
on a sounding word,
briefly stressed in a gesture,
around the short thickness,
there to rock the refrain of the pages,
ride the smooth surface at an only
leaking out of night-light all over the stars
waiting for the incoming day.
BUK
and it wept,
and is now weeping,
and still wept its eyes out,
at their lucid fullness,
by the dragging dark of the thoughts rehashed,
smells, the one and only colour to the words,
just a little lapse of filling of lips,
simply to unlock a word getting lost
at the oblivion of the moneme,
angels,
as a short way will slip away
at a warmth on a breath looking for answers.

1:14am June 8,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

BUK

that fullness now is become an emptiness,
that black now is white, the scent is the one
and only skin I can remember, set in the air,
as free to leaf through timeless remembrances
that follow unstopping,
by giving some living to that interval lived,
but alive because he floats up into the air,
even now,
all that is sewn on my skin;
lives and vibrates forever,
I always remember that
remembering and remembering
ever his scent
scattered away into the air,
now,
as into the mind.
the whole is empty,
the whole is filled with the scent,
the one and only matter of the living words
along a life,
live one more time,
Buk
have a good journey.

August 5,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

HOURS, MINUTES AND A DAWN

A whole life to speak, to breathe in the air,
running out one’s own sounds, burnt into that short time, quickly,
up to coming up to the dawn, until that rises again.
A handful of hours in which the minutes are dear
like the air to utter, it pursues the all-life dream,
but shortly burnt into that short breathlessness, the lights,

only images on that time,
and you hold them up to playing at one’s own rhythm;
no air, no light , and aloneness, the one and only rock
that will cradle you,
the borderless spaces around the lights of the eyes seek for some hope
on a groaning being going to wait for ages,
no compromises, only just those little minutes,
give them to me, please.

12:00pm August 12,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

23 by 7

dedicate to my friend, 23 by 7 years and a few minutes,
as a handful of breathing,
here you start to look into who you are really,
as real as the value of life,through those little instants,
like a dawn that you will taste like no others,
only you, only that narrow now,
and calling,
calling, but no one listens to you,
and the sounds fade away into the air,
so as the life fades away at dawn.

10:05am August 14,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

HUMAN BEING

the human being still learns from mother nature very much yet,
very much more.
All of you can only look around you
because at the right moment you stay lonelier
than a bright
 star in the dark blue
all over the blue night in the sky.
Remember that
and start to imagine yourself that’s the dawn which is coming in on you,
and there won’t be light.

10:14am August 14,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

AT 6:32 AM

a new dawn turns into a new sunset,
our destiny is like that,
until one of them can never look at one again,
that’s the destiny of ours,
that’s what it’s like a hourglass goes empty
slowly, by no noises,
just the remaining grainlets become the little bells,
perhaps the dawn comes in,
perhaps the sunset comes in,
on that day there was the morning dawn at 6:32 am,
and I could listen to the last draining grainlets of the hourglass,
hello.

17:46pm September 6,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE LAST BREATHS OF THE DAWN

the wind there just mumbles its muttering
in no rhythm,
through the sky and on the streets,
by looking to unfasten for the words scattered, all,
that’s just like a day walks on to wait for the sunset,
so that doing it up it mixes the words once again,
then resews them at dawn,
until it holds on some warmth to yield their words,
a blanket to warm those last breaths
round the dawn that shortly slides off,
and like the wind the day,
murmuring,
hushed up inside the room forever.

18:12pm September 6,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE SUNSET

day by day they follow ahead, that’s like a promise,
the days’ tide lets just fragments of remembrances
around the dreams edge,
here I am and don’t want to be there to listen to that murmuring of the dawn
till the sunset,
I want only to walk with my friend along with his faith,
his own vivacity,
where can I go, now that you have just gone away?
I am alone,
in these streets with no meanings, tell me, I will be along with you,
hello.

17:50pm September 9,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE HOURGLASS’S GRAINLETS

suddenly, the toy breaks irreparably
and the playing cards at table shuffled once again
and shut my well-playing cards off too,
over and out,
while irreparably the hourglass’s grainlets are flowing on ahead quickly,
pushing each and every daily breath,
where every word becomes as a ground as never-never land,
a score can play once only,
and write it out anew through the raining days,
in the rain to seek a corner about that grainlet of murmuring,
of life and wind,
dragged away at dawn,
as a gaze thrown, off there in the night,
there just to see the world is made,
now the dark stands out,
the sound of the night feels thinner
and breakable as well;
now I want to walk, but can’t,
and well shout out,
yet it gets a murmuring only that paints the dawn,
to fade out just at losing sight,
till the break of day that it can never see.
the dawn, an hour, a minute and a grainlet,
the last thing on the table bet.
A murmuring an unlistened murmuring,
suddely.

00:47am September 18,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

WAITING FOR A NEW DAY

the world runs on,
like a dry river,
held up only with the dry branches
scattered along the scanning of the sun,
and wrought by the wind only,
the word-breathed souls adrift,
without any thickness,
as thin clippings of knowledge weight about knowing naught,
that’s filling the night with the day,
to sketch out new carve words,
then clearing up with the unknowing of dry,
insolent voices,
only a wordless river.

01:49am September 19,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

AT DAWN

at dawn you went off,
and for the last time I saw you,
before the very beginning of your departure,
at 6:32 am,
a deep faith faded out over the day,
like an instant,
walking out the room forever,
to go out for riding the dawn,
without being able to look at a new day any more,
I got only that dawn,
to warm my own heart,
my own dawn will be together.

12:59pm September 23,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE BRICK

giving one shape before from the break day to the break of sunset,
and realising it is meaningless,
to walk about scanning the words
and breathing the taste of day,
by a wait for a new shape ready to be known from everyone,
the space-built brick height to view the sunset,
Or perhaps the dawn,
the dark is the one and only colour
before the last breathing on a much given remembrance,
the silence gives shape to colours.

02:10am September 26,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

IT’S THE TIME

the time’s up,
gone, as light as
a wind gust breaking through on the storm dreams,
on walls some writings written,
thoughts up,
there just was no way of timing the sundown
and sunset as well,
the water inside the fire,
thoughts made easy from that run-on buzz,
words piled up as light walking into a room
sized by windows,
framed alongside unanswered and unqueried frames,
but some hope it’s like that dawn painted will go on painting a new day there,
here to wait for a new break of day to take me to you.

01:40am September 27,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE DAWN BREATH

I would like to take my shoes off,
but don’t feel like doing that,
I would like to die,
but for the thoughts in my mind,
at dusk the dark of the dawn breath,
on a breath’s edge to be breathed
by believing today is the day,
today is the night but it is not,
the dawn is delaying to come in,
while murmuring the night is waving its cloak,
so to give air to the night’s thicknesses,
through a mere blue made full with streets
untamed about breaths,
now it’s the time,
now the morning is
and the dawn has come in now,
now it’s the gathering time.

01:34am October 14,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

YEARS

falling down on the Earth, white as a bright light-year and intense even as your eyes, beautifully warm to listen, fell down in the world, fell 23 years time ago,
now black to walk into the streets,
by living over here.

01:48am October 27,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

REASON

for that reason you went off, now on that dawn,
lukewarm from that day on, unexpected,
filled with the only silence on an endless hope,
enclosed in a word only,
being whispered to a sun ray,
just risen sinless,
an illuminated corridor of remembrance,
the song has faded away with the shadow warmth,
shapeless traces, now I am here right now,
alone I must walk on alone through this jungle being numb with the words nestled
on the truth of the wall,
to get colourless around the first raining on breathing footsteps over a day,
why have you let me alone?
now right, I will wait and stay to wait for the next stop.

01:42am November 2,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

WHITE

no matter what you think of, when you cross my path you know what you are thinking about.

00:42am November 7,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

A WHITE ANGEL

a white angel was, fallen down on the ground and become black then.
Over years faith drags on like the daily morning sun, out of the blue the wings have shut, and the air gust of walking got less, getting and getting less brief, but faith in pride clearly breathed, of a breathed volume, until the last instant, from the dawn on here the wings lay down completely all over the ground, by giving an intense brief air gust,
just before departing, at 6:32,
now he’s white,
the white has gone off, now I stay to wait for the dawn.

00:52am November 7,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

BY NOW

by now it’s left only the dawn breath,
shut at 6:32;
on sunsetless day,
the only white remembrance on a black colour along a colour remembrance, the feathers in their lukewarm warmth light up the horizons of the gaze on staring tomorrow,
in wait the night comes down,
then to fade away at dawn through an unexpected dawn breath that will mirror at the threshold of remembrance at the first beckoning break of the day.

01:55am November 7,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

A SPRING DAY

I look into his eyes, lively and happy like a spring day, there he holds on, waiting to greet me, before his departure, however, had already understood all of this he, asking for only two hours, merely a farewell leaning on the breath, there to wait for the dawn coming in, fathomed with his sentences;
the day wind is coming in, and gazes crossed, through no breeze on a breath,
always cease to meet at dawn: at 6:32.

02:55am November 9,2019
in art BLUENIGHT

IT’S ONLY A DAWN

when living your life you believe in tomorrow,
but facing a matter that is above you, bingo,
you will lose all,
the darkness becomes your realm and your crown will be made up with fear,
so that the strength to seek a glimmer of light is to catch the wind up
among the rain’s needles;
live your existence in no doubt of the now,
and in all its fears of the day that will come in,
at dawn the day will come on by the whiteness,
of a murmuring it states the dew at the break of day;
it’s only a dawn,
and will be that only,
through the sudden glimmer encases all of your remembrance,
lived in short-lived instants at dawn.

01:53am Novermber 18, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT

NOW THE NIGHT IS

now, into the night density,
seeped in only the daily-waiting noises,
the dawn fills with its mantle right to greet that breath groaned on a new day,
dense as the night up to being light and gentle to breathe the words,
as draggings slip into the walking,
now the night is,
and the dawn is already starting to night the hours,
at a clearer colour which will be enclosing in a short breath
along by merely a short gesture of the body,
and in that short-lived instant at dawn it shuts,
for a new returnless and waitless walking,
by an only colour to live on the night at dawn.

02:35am Novermber 21, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE DEW AT THE BREAK OF DAY

during the dawn the last breathing flew off,
out of the first rays of sunshine,
at 6:32,
and the tones of a daily life, now,
the void is the one and only thing remained,
the remembrance round those lukewarm moments that wander off the air,
up to surrounding with a new dawn,
yet no breath,
only the sounding remembrance lights up
again the day coming into being that one comes alive
and to walk into, until all that joins to a dawn anew,
at 6:32,
on a new day over a new remembrance to add up the last breath.

00:38am Novermber 27, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT

ON A DAY THAT WAS

the rain is reading its score,
I am gathering remembrance of mine,
all that has enclosed round a dawn,
on a day that was,
yet that anchored at the first-blooming rays of sunshine,
then that will fade away off dawn,
toning in with merely a colour, sound and image;
the day is dragging the whole moods off,
creaking until it comes to the sunset,
then the silence sings of the void,
as lost-sounded images
into their colours will come into being at dawn,
a new one, a new score to read off and to act,
only once via the dark of tomorrow.

01:14am December 2, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE TIME AND THE CLOCKS

the time drips with its pure movement,
by jingling the clock-hands, as a lingering-spaceless day due to paint,
merely the thoughts’ corners scattered around the night,
then dripping at the first-warming sun,
and so filling with the space got free with the words,
as titleless books,
there to clink the moods in the dancing sounds,
trapped in the words,
slowly narrower and narrower, breathless,
just as much as one word,
via a wordless renewing day:
the time and the clocks.

00:34am December 6, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT

ALL OF YOU

nobody has honoured him,
nobody has wept for him,
nobody remembers his name now,
a word has become colourless,
and soundless as well,
you, all of you, demand just only honesty as you hold the cherry-tree staff,
you, hypocritical, want freedom, as you withdraw your fears,
here isolated,
in the falsehood sea,
you, all of you, are weak moods,
full with some arrogance and hebetude,
and would rather the false words than the right way,
you, all of you, shame on you, about your living,
as foul beings as pitiless, heartless and prideless,
in seeking some light into the world’s darkness,
all of you deserve only black-on-black,
only the doors sealed with the honour knowedge
and with the pride blood and the code of silence on remembrance,
you, all of you, that life will give all that you give over:
nothing.

01:24am December 8, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT

A DAWN THEN ENCHANTING

a new dawn has wasted away,
and a new day has shown up,
here’s remembrance travels round his life,
like the autumn leaves in their vibrant and gentle falling sun-sound,
led away with the wind until life gets better,
a remembrance nestled down in the pulsing reflections up some day-light,
deep to write the pages up in a just-shown up almost life,
outlooking the rhythm through the painted-sunned rays,
and stretching away as far as the starry mantle,
lit up with the desires and dreams being cradled through the sounding clock,
when an ever-ending spring tweet fades away into the first-hit dawn lights,
a remembrance, a dawn then enchanting.

02:30am December 8, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE DUG-OUT WORDS FROM THE INTERVALS

the wind has just dried the rain’s tears,
only the gushing waves’s floating-up dreams let borders make up so enchanting at the night sky oblivion,
words dug out from the intervals,
intermittent the long groans of the dreaming steps, never tracked down clearly,
except with vague beckonings,
obscure through the fog of the time passing by,
a firm place in the air,
a room set fixed over the void,
the wind is past, the day is coming back to paint the dawn,
blending your ego past the night’s horizon.

2:02am December 8, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT

THE DAY WITH THE DAWN

the day with the dawn took the last blowing murmuring farewell off,
floated up into the room that remained there until the first sun rays via the day draws in the remaining sound as clear as a score to the remembrance ears,
the day acted a permanent dawn in the mind,
a void sings of volumes of your life,
remembrances about a remembrance,
added up with seconds to get hours,
stretching out into the eternity on a murmuring dawn.

01:39am December 8, 2019
in art BLUENIGHT

Merry Christmas
and Happy New Year!
2020
so make another year walk on to paint in rhythm all over its endless journey, through new colours and new experiences, together with other endless sentences that will speak off themselves via a new eternal journey called living; have a great and Happy New Year and New Beginning to all of you there, thank you for your colours given back to me to a renewed thought.
in art BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

LIVING end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

THE REMAINING DAYS

digging in this word-dry world,
I can merely gather some ink, dry with the songless wind,
but only a hiss as a murmuring sings its wind,
solely the wordless song with some edgeless ink never going to dry and never in the hearts,
and had, digging, dug, to dig to seek my day,
my river, by filling that with the clock on a lived day,
as an instant that waves off the mind and heart as well,
and looking at the stars all over the sky about remembering that day
makes up my desert,
pages where to write my tears up in the wind-deep ink,
just long enough to lose forever,
just there truly at that time;
it’s only a desert digging a groove in the new daylight,
digging, a day.

01:54am January 30, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

AN ANGEL

An angel came up to the earth,
and only the beating wings could be heard,
and over the years spent ahead,
He was black, dark as pitch,
the time plays the clock-hands, and the beating wings on the day all that appeared shortly,
seeming as a rain spring chatter in wait for the oncoming sun,
now He is white,
and His feathers that can fill the floor are soft,
are light,
are a remembrance,
an angel fell down on the earth
and I did not know that.
Have a good journey.

02:27am January 30, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

THE MOON’S MANTLE

the sun has fell in the moon’s mantle,
there waiting for the flowing dew that slips through dawn colours
and the crooning birds of the early morning, incoming before the volume,
the empty streets flooded with the words, creaks,
and with dreams in vain.
now the mantle gets thinner, just to a walk time,just to say,
how are you?.
The sounds are gathered around a beckoning along a dawn,
the sunset always agrees with the stars smiling to the moon,
like city lights come into being the reflections of some murmured words.
the rivers of the desires, like rocks,
worn away by the sea,
melt away into the new address which will turn at the next day,
and the sun will be there together with its mantle and the stars keep on singing.

00:34am February 2, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

ITS RHYMED WATER CHORDS

I walked too longer,
too many steps,
too much land,
worn out to walk on,
the ruts caught on,
and well tried,
only the wind,
playing with the rain,
caught up in nuances,
played through its watery rhythm chords and painted with the scores,
written up by the dawn and one more by the sunset,
it’s only a walk along spirits’ breaths leading up to new thoughts,
which space out by the twilight switches,
as the curtain on air every day,
rhythmically,
never stopping,
and never giving any breath to race,
on this journey,
as the curtain on air every day,
rhythmically,
never stopping,
and never giving any breath to race,
on this journey,
now that a chapter is catching on,
as the clouds are leaning out,
the lights are turning on,
the night writes its score up for the dawn,
another road to run along,
other souls will be breathing on new road miles.

10:48pm Feb 10, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

THE DESERT WATER

My lord can you turn this stone into bread? No, I can not. Can you turn dreams into words? Yes, I can. why my lord? Because dreams and words are the same. Well, I can dream of bulding a bridge. No, you can’t, because you don’t have words and dreams. It’s the desert water.

20:14pm April 12, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

QUERIES AND ANSWERS

the life is the same,
the dawn and sunset follow up their colours,
but that room still empty fills up with the days,
queries and answers get unravelling at their breathing on uttering some thoughts,
through the day by a desert of sounds the river runs on,
the clock-hands speak to each other,
the life is the same,
that room will ever be empty.

1:28am May 31, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

A Clicking Broken Off Briefly By The Hours

Every single moment matters
an endless desire for a walk away from one’s own road

A LIFE LIVED

a life lived laid there on that hope he stands on,
briefly broken off by clicking hours,
to fathom those airy recalls,
filled merely with the tomorrow; the light seeps in eyes' colours,
one's own his and mine,
and as I was carefully looking at that alternating play of life taken in a short space on the keen gazes,
the world of the window has changed,
and its see-through has got a trace smoked by remembrances that thin into the snap-breathed day that settles in hope of a word whenever none will be known.

1:40am Mar 2, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

THE ROAD QUOTES BY BLUENIGHT

relating to others, the outside world,
the individual gets to know about itself.
can one relate to the world not by getting to know all
 that?

18:04pm July 10, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

A FEW WORDS TO BREATHE

a few words, floating upon the air till being concrete on each mood enclosed swiftly into a breathing of the movement overlooked into the space by the clinking hands tolled through the clock far away on the horizon, play on.

13:18pm August 31, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

PURSUING

the day space becomes light through the night,
the puffing angels' wings at the song's edge spread by the sea waves
rippling all along the thoughts' fragments, written and erased,
dwelling by brief yet warm gazes, heady like the rivers pursued by the notes, played, which pursue another one at their overlapping-rhythmed breath unstopping
by no spaces up to turning into a beckoning of night that fades out at first sunrays.

01:18am September 17, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WERE CASTLES

once upon a time there were castles,
now there are only spaces among the stones,
where a white sunny thought used to dwell among the paper folds,
singing to the sound of laughters.
A dust enchantment that the wind carries ahead
and that only time can dwell and wear out too,
carries intervals away by thought-rocked alleys,
till smoothing out day after day without a musical sense to listen.

00:40am Sept 19, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

WORLD OF WORDS

into this world of words a desert filled with mute-grained silence,
overflowed with chants echoed through the wave-humming wind,
the one and only rut where one can run into a sound shrieking of a story,
enchanted to drag itself down the streets,
desert and cleaned out any footprints,
an echo all night long thickened by the stars seeks out a place to talk
and to play with the dawn up to the sunset to sing.

12:17pm 18 Nov, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

merry christmas
happy new year
and
new Beginning
2021
I can only pray
and just look up at the rising dawn.

I can only weep for all that’s happened, and reach out for that few breaths of hope to gather up, tangled in the daily living, now living is more important than ever, and now a new road waits for us for hoping and undertaking, now I can gather and reach out for that thread of truth, by looking ahead to the future and to say that I’m not afraid of tomorrow, from now on I can only hope for new colours to live and walk down the world streets and get started on what all of us have begun.

by bluenight

SOUL end of the road

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

THE ONGOING DAY

the rain is falling down, as a pure cry writes a remembrance out,
shut in the past so that the present meets the past into a handkerchief which never dries, never as far as a memory about a sound that spins in the pockets emptied of every dream by now, dull dreams, mute like the silence whispering its own tear that sails through the skin then falls in the ongoing day,
until the rain gathers up its remembrance.

12:02pm Dec 24, 2020
inart BLUENIGHT

THE SILENCE

the silence is my cloak
where I will be able to enclose all the words, and whisper the phrases which none will listen to the world, the absolute silence,
as unique as life itself, and as deep as the remembrance,
unique compass to get through the darkness, and the one and only lighthouse will stake out the walls in that darkness, that silent thought,
now become the one and only mail to an unknown sender,
misleads the white sheet of paper by its words about a daily living worn out with the dawn
and then faded out at sunset,
till all that comes back anew,
there in the white-painted intervals
by writing them out again;
it's time to go off,
the silence doesn't not wait.

16:12pm Jan 16, 2021
inart BLUENIGHT

PLACES

by looking at the water surface laid on the journey footsteps, there just the past is burning in the present rippled by the fine wind waves,
the mirror image of the tomorrow lengthens into pictures
without any dwelling,
incalculable odds embedded in new places.

18:11pm Jan 18, 2021
inart BLUENIGHT

DAY’S MEMORY

in this haze storm running across thoughts torn by the past fills every corner in the places, like a homeless soul searches for a fireplace whereby it will be able to burn down for the last time, by crumbling away in sounds, as sinuous painted shapes,
just remembrances secretly shining into the reflections carved by the clock floating in those tears,
in the writing day's memory,
warm notes that only the wind can play,
and only the hands can gather the score
in all its lived days
warmth.

18:19pm Jan 9, 2021
inart BLUENIGHT

THE CITY WALLS

the way I started to paint
the moon high in the sky waiting
on the stars pursuing
her speaks of the blue remembrances
leafed through by the cloak become blue,
as deep as the morning gaze aimed at staring at the dawn
happening or transcending,
like the groove prints of walking curled up into the breathing song
crossing the city walls, the moon stays there to listen
and to light up
your trail
through
the crowd.

19:32pm Jan 15, 2021
inart BLUENIGHT

THE CURTAIN

the sky sings the day fully in its colours by bluenight
the sky sings the day fully in its colours, faded into countless tints like canvases of a thought written on the wall, about a memoryless city, whereby the numbers are only streets, and the short-lived memory is the fresh air, and singing that tastes the rustle of every single sigh, taken hold of a desire expressed that will open up only at nightfall till the curtain blossoms up to a new score anew.

19:16 pm Feb 16, 2021
inart BLUENIGHT

THE WAY

the sky around the different cities day and night by bluenight
looking up the sky, around the different cities, day and night, I can gather up my thoughts, and see that world introduced as unreleased pictures each day, whereas the wind shapes the clouds, while the sun fades the colours of the dawn and the sunset, and the moon makes the stars bright standing out against its blue mantle, silently to fancy among the score lines as the changing sky every day, the way the wind moulds the birds’ song at the first hint of sun.

17:35pm Feb 22, 2021
inart BLUENIGHT

A JOURNEY TRACING

the sun fades the colours of the dawn by bluenight
riding the sky waves, until a new day’s horizon, to see the night starry high on the sky, and dreaming of tomorrow just to leaf through another written page with some wind-faded ink, and dried by the passing of time, and will be dusted by the rain then, of a journey tracing a new remembrance upon my skin, and of a new alley, lit up into the night, sketching up a new journey.

18:52 pm Feb 22, 2021
inart BLUENIGHT

THE FEATHERS

the angels lamed by the darkness of tomorrow search for their feathers
blown away by the dawn of that kiss, on a trip with no return,
one-way only, that was the story,
now roots have grown up in the ground,
and the winds are drying those few tears scattering across the past
on a day lived to look for the feathers.

23:46 pm July 14, 2021
inart BLUENIGHT

TODAY

today I am feeling well, today I am feeling like facing the day along with its dawn and sunset, 
today I am alive,
today I want to sing my life,
by throwing it somewhere,
just to feel alive,
today is a day,
the day is gone,
today I am feeling like loving you forever,
but how are you today?

11:39am Aug 2, 2021
inart BLUENIGHT

SCRIBBLING
THE SEA
bluenight’s script

SPIRIT end of the road