Morning lights

That kiss your glasses

While you sit down.

Your eyes on a note

Hiding a secret

With the numbers.

The head still,

The fingers scroll

While you focus.

Recalling strict rules

That makes order

without oppressing.

An explanation to find

In the depth of the mind

While you shiver.

A thought in the head

That stops your hand

Without warning.

The pencil drops

Between the sobs

While you stand up.

Your eyes on a note

Hiding a secret

Looking for peace.



I capture the sunlights,

that dress the flowers in red

and caress the fallen leaves.

The pines scent floats,

brushing against my hair

carried by the fall breeze.

A yellow leaf moves,

dancing in front of my eyes

while I’m thinking of you.

Wishing to color the view

outside your door

with this feeling of calmness.

I asked to someone to draw something after reading this poem, Enjoy the outcome :)



I heard the voice of the snow, lifting my scarf.

Between my feet, the cold and the softness.

Flakes on my nose, like flower petals

That donated their scent to the wind

And their colors to the sky.

I heard the voice of the tea, calling me back home.

Text rewritten by Tringa (@tringuua)



4 a.m.

My dry throat wakes me up

Few steps to the fridge

And back to the bed

Waiting to fall asleep again

Random thoughts move at night

Memories of chats and frames of images

A post pops up in my mind

“How to interpret these dreams?”
Have I ever dreamt of something so remarkable?

A supermarket is next to my house

People outside

Coffee and beers

Adults were talking

Always the same words

She and I

Two teens

The only place where I could find her

The road in front of us

The last place where she walked

Before disappearing

A friend I would have never met

If not in a dream

A mystery I have never solved

That sometimes comes back to my mind



Nothing but a sinister mist in front of your eyes.

That turns dreams into nightmares,

Youth into old age.

That makes you slave of a place,

prisoner of a memory.

The hand shakes,

The air is thin.

The fingers tremble around a pencil,

letting pour the despair.

The breath gets…



Matt Supertramp

Matt Supertramp

I love listening to a lot of music, taking pictures and drinking coffee. Sometimes I try to find stories for Cowboys from space, sometimes I get lost somewhere.