Alina Popescu

I’m made of pearls when you walk in. White pearls of indecision, grey pearls of sadness. My thoughts are diamonds when you speak to me. Blue diamonds of solitude, black ones of

A song can be a little surprising and intoxicatingly sweet, just like a deep kiss before going to sleep or early in the morning.

If words were made of fabric, yours would be of the softest velvet wrapped gently ‘round my shoulders. If sounds were dripping liquid, your voice would be of the sweetest wine poured

apocalyptic skies over the city, waves upon waves of blood-red clouds weaving themselves into the fabric of the blue - a rugged canvas shrouding the body of the dying day.

Fire dancing on cold waves, Life that kills and Death that saves, Bloody moons to watch our sleep, Sleep and dream our lives away.

We whisper and creep through walls of frozen temples and forgotten halls, Blue and grey and snowy-white, and red, and mad, and sad we come to your ears and sight, ne’er to rest, ne’er to

For something lost and ne\'ver found, for something lost in vain, for living mirrors on the wall that open onto pain, For endless losing battles, for long forgotten prayers, for whispered words

Snow falling on Jerusalem Big, red flakes on mosques and temples, Fears, tears falling on Jerusalem Machine guns and crusaders\' castles.

the 10th of May I\'m not sure... I can\'t say it was nice, and I am equally unable to say whether it was a pleasure. It took me by surprise which, at this particular moment, is something liable to

Tall, steep stone walls towering over the narrow passage. The sky – low enough to suffocate even the strongest of hopes for a few hours of sunshine. The caravan advances slowly and wearily – a

Red and salty, heavy tears running down her cheeks like grotesque hot streams mapping her pale, bluish skin. She saw two black eyes in the mirror whispering words about the end, of death that

the 13th of December Yes, it’s winter again. And not a drop of snow yet. Not even proper cold. Winter in Oslo… Or in Helsinki. Bluish Norwegian nights. White Finnish angels carved in ice.

Once upon a Monday evening, far from any breathing earthling, far from sigh & far from laughter, dreading sun & mornin’ after, there lay the Moon Girl. Love of white light & soothing

Words are dead. Empty, meaningless sounds inflicting terrible wounds in the transparent, bluish flesh of the air; frozen, nonsensical worm-tracks on a yellowish piece of paper no one remembers having

Mad man laughing at the rain, Naught to lose and naught to gain, Only misery and pain. Mad eyes swallowing a star, Dreaming near and dreaming far, Only windows left ajar. Mad lips sipping up

I\'m walking in the fields of death, and the leaden clouds hang over my head, suffocating the air... My mind is empty, a boulder crushes my soul, and I can\'t feel my body. I\'m following a

Have you... Have you ever heard a silent song? Seems impossible, I know, But when you put your ear against Your fellow man\'s chest, you\'ll hear a sweet, Calm chanting. It makes you warm

One last wish before I go; go to a place I do not know, saying good-bye to my Norwegian snow, and letting all my thoughts sink deep and low. One last wish and I depart: depart and leave behind a

And if all was lost, and nothing left to say, I\'d still be whispering your name, and hope that I\'ll be saved. And if I were to die right now, and God allowed me one more wish, I\'d wish to