the illusionary peace

she comes –
as the silence before a storm
     into my room, filled with
     something close to melancholia

when my windows are closed
when my door is closed
when I feel like
smoking another cigarette

I remember,
in the morning
looking at death
on everyone’s face
and
into everyone’s eyes

those who think deep
find at the bottom
there is a ray of darkness
only

my cat will die one day
i will follow him

she too will perish

look through a busy bazaar;
day after tomorrow
          none of us will deceive another

this room is mine.
this room belongs to me,
now.

if that is the case, then
let her storm
storm into every tiny cell of mine

     let her disturb
     the illusionary peace

someone who loves mathematics

she was a bright student

bright in the sense,
she could describe
the meaning of a poem

bright in the sense,
she seemed to be lost
into Tolstoy, into Camus

i knew her
i knew her name

only i did not seem to know
              to notice
                 to care
   to understand

she was more interested in mathematics