Halvgammal dikt.
Jag saknar vackrast ibland…
Vackrast
Varje gång jag ser det där långa blonda håret.
Tänker jag genast “Det måste vara hon!
Bara vackrast har det där underbara håret.”
Men när hon vänder sig om, är det nån annan.
Men när jag ser den dom där stilrena kläderna.
Tänker jag om igen “Det är ju hon!
Innan annan har en sådan underbar stil.”
Men när jag cyklar förbi ser jag nån annan.
Men så hör jag den där speciella rösten.
Den där som bara hon har och som använder så väl.
Den med den vackraste dialekt och sköna ord.
Men när jag tittar upp så ser jag inte henne.
Besviken går jag hemåt tills jag hör skrattet.
“Det är hennes skratt” Det kan väl ingen annan ha?”
För skratt glömmer man aldig, inte hennes.
Men lik förbaskat är det inte hon nu heller.
Det är nu jag inser någonstans.
Att det inte är håret som gör henne vackrast.
Inte heller stilen som gör henne så snygg.
OCh även om jag älskar den, inte heller rösten.
Eller det vackra skrattet hon äger.
Det är allting tillsammans i en person.
Och inte minst hennes vackra själ.
Hat mot hatet
Ovilja mot oviljan
Rädsla för rädslan
Sorg över sorgen
Allting går bara runt i cirklar
Sjunker i svagt sluttande spiraler
Når tillslut den mörka botten
Så långt från livet man kan komma
1 - get yourself a decent bicycle
2 - seat yourself on the bicycle
3 - put your hands on the handlebar
4 - put your feet on the pedals
5 - use your feet to move the bicycle forward
6 - go wherever you want
7 - enjoy the feeling of the wind in your face
8 - let go of the handlebar (Optional)
An skipped heart beat
It was all he needed
Now he just knew
Luckily she new too
Now they knew together
Forever they would know
But then she understood
That the other didn’t understand
That the other did just know
So the one who understood
Leaved the one who knew
Making his knowledge worthless
How easy it is to just disappear into a crowd,
you just walk right in and become another one.
No one really notices you, you are one of many.
How many times haven’t I done just that,
taken a small step and become one of many,
all while really becoming no one at all.
It’s a special thing that makes me keep doing it,
a search urging me to do it again and again,
to find those who really don’t belong in there.
Those that fail to blend into the great crowd,
those who becomes lighthouses in the sea of people,
shining like jewels, beautifying the rest of us.
Standing at a distant subway station,
holding a paper cup of coffee in my hand.
I slowly sip from the cup while waiting,
watching people at they pass me by.
First the little girl giggling with joy,
her proud mother pulling her along.
I can’t do anything than smile wide.
Then a old man slowly staggers by,
I put away my cup and open the doors.
I get an approving nod and smile.
After him comes a group of teenagers,
discussing the only and special One.
Making me wonder who my One was.
After them comes the businessmen,
yearning for their home and children.
Happiness radiates from their tired faces.
Then I notice the beggar beside me,
making me feel guilty and misplaced.
I shake my head smiling at his requests.
But then She comes, my other half.
More beautiful than I remembered her,
She just walks past me without a glance.
I sigh and throw my empty paper cup,
take a step outside the station an breathe.
Dreaming of her while I walk back home.
She wished for a pair of wings,
but it was too late for them to be useful.
The fall of her soul had begun so long ago,
but back then she hadn’t noticed it.
He had wished for healing,
but he had lost too much blood already.
The wounds on his soul had bled for too long,
all those dark and blind years.
He had wished for a cure,
but the sedative already flowed in his veins.
The venom inside his soul had had it course,
slowly killed his essence and will.
Their wishes was never realized,
just as they never realized it was too late.
If they only had listened to voice of their souls,
they all would have been saved
Himlen är av den vackaste nyans av blå,
något med ljusets brytning var det väl.
Men egentligen är det ju helt ointressant,
det förändrar inte den inneboende skönheten.
Vetenskapen har gjort sina försök om igen,
(ettkommaetthundaarton och allt det där).
Men det är bara en sak som kan uppskatta det,
något lika vackert som den blåa himmlen.
Vår egen himmelsblå själ.
A odd light seeps through the dense clouds
Changing green to emerald and red to crimson.
Everything turns unreal, just a little to beautiful
It feels like an illusion, made of fake and lies.
But still it isn’t without a little pain
I see the beautifying effect slowly subside.
Bringing back everything to it real looks
But to a now faded and dull truth.
In a way it’s like love’s rise and fall
A beautifying effect coming and fading away.
No one had suspected him
he was so caring and full of love.
He had helped everyone
but in the end, everything was a lie.
They had always known him
they had all grown up with him.
The smiling and happy boy
he was loved by everyone.
He had been the steady rock
everyone had relied on him.
When they had had it hard
he had been there for all of them.
But everything was now nothing
he had committed treason to them all.
They had been left there alone
with anger, hate and sorrow.
He had broken the highest law
“Love your neighbor as yourself”.
He had left the world all alone
the world he had helped them live in.