Kategori: Dikt

Jeg ser med andre øyne nå.
Andre øyne enn det jeg gjorde før.
Det er ikke min fornuft som har forandret seg,
heller mitt hjerte.
Det er ikke fordi jeg ikke elsker deg lenger,
det er heller at jeg ikke liker deg så godt som før.

Jeg har tatt av meg brillene.
Ikke fordi jeg ikke trenger dem lenger,
men fordi solen ikke lenger er så sterk.
Og selv om solen går ned
vil den stå opp igjen i morgen.
Noen ganger gjemt bak skyene riktignok.

Før trodde jeg at noe var mye mer enn enn noe.
Før trodde jeg at mye var mye mer enn mye.
Nå vet jeg at noe er er mye mer enn mye.
Nå vet jeg at mye er mye mer enn noe.
Kulepennen din er ikke som andre kulepenner.
Din kulepenn lagde kulehull i mitt uberørte ark.

(2005)

Is this right?

Valentine,
dreadful word.
It can’t describe the love,
others cannot see.

A pathetic symbolic memory,
for those who don’t know how to use their skills.

The art of love.
Painted with all the colours of the world,
seen by true lovers.
Real lovers do not need one special day as a reminder.

Those who love without a reminder,
are the most appreciated.
For those who feel that every day together is unique.
For those who know that every day together is special.

(2004)

These days,
love’s wrapped in red paper,
given with red roses and satin hearts.
Chocolates,
a taste of love.

Loving,
by the promises you can’t keep.
Kisses
and embraces,
making love.

Love suited for dinners,
beef and wine.
Love described by
poetry
and trips to Paris.

(2004)

Tender lovers
ordering tickets to modern love.
Catch my breath.
Wish it was not so.
Why can’t it be like before.
I don’t understand.
Why can’t the three little words,
be enough?

Hearts locked up in prisons,
set ‘free’ by their keys
on Valentine’s day.
Love spreads.
Chasing.
Breathlessly.
People like me go hiding.
Valentine oxygen burns up my little lungs,
I’m seeking some stuffiness that suits me.
Find myself as an owl,
sickened by the Valentine sunshine.
Searching desperately,
but I got my own loving soul.
My own spark of divine fire.
Do not need a note.

(2004)

Gifts,
wrapped in red paper.
Red roses,
satin hearts.
Chocolates
and promises you can’t keep.
Kisses
and embraces.
Lovely dinners,
beef and wine.
Poetry
and trips to Paris.

I turn my back.
A gust of wind
sends chills down my spine.
I throw up,
laughing hysterically.
Wondering.
Where are the unspoken words of truth?
Questioning a stupid tradition.
Heartbroken lovers crying,
shameful.
Making me laugh.
What pity.

(2007)