Left behind

8 is the old infinity

the one that lays down

shapes its curves

crosses its lines

and fools the circles

into losing their path

the one which wraps space

in a point

and confuses the wise

with perpetuity

eight, the old infinity

Making mud

Making mud

there are days 

when the space 

above the earth 

doesn't care too much 

about the reflecting blue 

of waters, it just spits 

holy flegm and coughs up

a sick paradise

that drops on dirt

Aida Bode ©

Shedding

I count to three hundred,

see time shed its sand

from one side of my

hour glassed soul

to the other…

Invisible

grey is not a color,

it is a bridge 

that's where orphans wait 

and beggars sleep

troubled waters they say

that remain there

always

Good bye June

you saw him breathe his last breath

and remembered your formation

a father's newfound darkness

becomes light

and you, a child

Aida Bode ©

Spring

Akull

I hodha pak

akull mosnjohjeje

gotës së dashurisë,

u deha me mpirje

të ringjall Perënditë.

Por mitet flenë

në mitrën shterpë

të së kaluarës,

një gjumë pa ëndrra

pa rënkime

pa frymë.

Trupat e shpuar

të ditëve të ngrata

pikojnë rërën e kohës

tek zvarriten pas netësh

lindur nga balta.

Hijet s'kanë ku të shfaqen,

por të vdes s’kam me frikë.