A curious being, an exhibitionist,
driven by the irresistible urge to
strip bare his soul for all to see,
to throw his feelings
back and forth like tennis balls,
hoping your heart is an open net…
his fingers dance on its strings,
as if it were a violin,
play your emotions like a piano
his memories weave tender words,
elegant ballet dancers turning on a toe,
artists on a tight rope, who often fall…
The poet must criticise in our names,
he asks the questions we forget,
uncomfortable they may be,
yet we begin to think and seek
an answer inside us…
his treasure hunt is ours, too,
and what he finds he shares with you



Sybille (Sydney Krivenko 2007