A body

Today is the day
I seek for desperately
Burying my body
Into a familiar body
Of somebody. 

Would you mind?

We can't read the minds.
If someone finds
Something antipathetic
In anything we did
No need to take it
Personally.
We can't act
As they expect
Simply because
We can't read their minds.
As the nature says
A human tends
To make judgements
Based on the moments
To reject or accept
Any aspect
With which we are packed.
Even though not all the acts
Show what we have felt
But they are sure of that
They know us well.
In fact
Sometimes a smile hides
A cry behind the eyes
But they don't know that
Simply because
They can't read our minds.

Clara

Clara
A girl with hope
A heart in peace
Lilies in her hair.
Pure Clara
What do you have in your chalice?
A little bit of hope
And a little bit of peace?
Poor Clara
Don't drink it.

In the kitchen

One day I saw myself on a kitchen mirror
Half wrecked
Half wounded.
I decided to make a cake
For those who only know
What exactly to take.
I had the perfect recipe
And got the ingredients
I think I was ready.
Some joy, gently beaten
A little punch of grief
And a box of disappointment, 
Hard boiled.
Also some others
I would probably need.
Mixed the dough slowly
And checked the taste.
Raw dough without some fire
Didn't count as one good cake.
Put the dough into a little pan
Waited for it to rise.
Checked the time
But the oven said
I had to be patient.
Waited and waited.
Checked and checked.
And here was a perfect cake!
I cut it into slices
Picked the best looking one for myself
Spared the rest
For the beloved guests.
First bite was a bit salty
I couldn't recognize if it was the tears
Or the years, maybe.
Second bite was bitter
Yes I knew 
I shouldn't have added
So many fears.
I was full after the third bite
Which was tasteless.
It must have been the innocence 
Whose expiration date had passed
That made the cake
Dull and worthless.
I threw the rest into the rubbish bin.
I didn't have anything for the party.
So I checked the pantry  
If there was something 
To start from the beginning.
But I had used up all the years,
Tears and fears
Grief, joy and innocence 
All left was
The empty oven
And the mirror
In the kitchen.