Kategori: Dikt

I’m like a brand new piece of paper.
Never been written on.
Never been touched.

I’ve saved my paper
for the story
of your pen.

This piece of paper
is longing for the truth,
your mindful truth.

There is a man without a face,
a faceless man without a name.
He’s the son of nobody-knows-whom,
the father of no one.

He talks rather slow,
but indeed he is a man.
He is somewhat like cellophane,
no one will take notice of his appearance.

He writes his name in invisible ink,
writing lines on the paper which will never be seen.
And as the years go by
he will just sink further still.

I could tell you that I love you,
love you all my life,
couldn’t I?

But wouldn’t that be like telling you
that a candle shall continue burning,
continue burning,
as long as it shall live?

By the bend,
where you stood.
Where I gazed in your blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
Just blue.

I walk here now.
Not totally alone.
The ghost of tomorrow,
is following.
Watching.

There’s the gate,
Where we stood.
Where I was suddenly left,
left alone.
By myself.

I never looked back,
nor did you.
I believe.
It might be better that way.
Do what’s one’s ought to,
not what one should.

(2004)

Jeg har så lyst til å gråte.
Kjenne tårene strømme
varmt nedover skinnene,
mens jeg prøver å tenke gode tanker.

Noen ganger,
slik som i dag,
føles det veldig ensomt å være alene.
Jeg vil ikke være sterk hele tiden.

Også jeg har behov for å slippe følelsene fri.
Ikke følge meg bundet
og bare krype tilbake til der drømmene bor.
I dag er en slik dag.

Dessverre forsterkes kun følelsene
når den eneste som kan gi meg trøst
er ens egen pute.
Da føles det plutselig meningsløst.

Det eneste jeg trenger
er noen som kan gi meg en klem.
Er det så mye å be om?
Jeg kan ikke være sterk alene hele tiden.