Comentarii:

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udrCuLqzYYsot , Joi, 03 Mai 2012, ora 07:08

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vdsKUAyBGafKQOyCXoz , Luni, 30 Aprilie 2012, ora 13:47

OameniiNe suparam unroei cu usurinta, aruncam nedrept bulgari de cuvinte. Uitam ca ieri eram o singura fiinta tarziu, unroei prea tarziu, ne aducem aminte de fluturii albastrii mii ninsi peste noi, atunci cand vorbele nezise ne erau juraminte , inscrise tacute peste inimi, iar bulgarii albi erau flori de caisi. Acum ne ingheata raceala din cuvinte si fara sa vrem fluturii albi am ucis. In lipsa perfectiunii suntem condamnati sa suferim ramane doar speranta asta daca mai credem in ea, caci oamenii sunt dimineti se desprind din boabele de roua, cresc odata cu razele de soare si imagineaza universuri isi deschid portile sufletului scriind mirari si povestind amintiri. Oamenii sunt amiezi stau in cumpana pe drumul vietii, intre a fi buni sau rai, importanti sau simpli, fericiti sau singuri. Oamenii sunt inserari privesc pamantul la sfarsitul zilei, multumesc pentru destin, saruta copiii si parintii si adorm unul langa altul, incalzind cu sufletele partea cealalta a lumii. Oamenii sunt nopti, viseaza rasarituri, deschid portile iubirii si se retrag tacuti in boabele de roua.