to a rain-scented leaf
on the pavement
that flooded her soul
in the lingering night
they wouldn’t understand,
only the one
who was destined
to a fading autumnal flight
then she took it home
and lulled to winter sleep
of an ancient book
about fairy skies
and cried tenderly
until her tears became
the most beautiful song
for his quiet forsaken paradise
subtle calligraphy of wind-fired leaves
streams across the forest velvet, recklessly
as midnight silvers windows with gossamer breaths;
his hands touch the cerulean of porcelain
with spell of candlelit, sheltered thoughts
like whimsical springs amidst solemnity of october;
from the misted afar, a call of mountain halls resounds
mingling with a clouded hymn to aureate spheres
and the budding murmur of remote thunder;
swept up towards the carnation of inner deep
he reshapes wall reflections into essences of moon,
brushing the spirits of things with lotus warmth
while fireflies, flameborn, patter the obscure
coating wooden whispers of chill-perfumed oaks
until rain weaves the potpourri of sparkling chimes
suspended along the aerial blur of sylvan silence.
soul becomes the swirling of ardent colors
stilled with soft blue serenity.
shedding incense flames
your guitar ignites the galaxy,
both harmony and chaos
in your lightstorm space
on the aerial sphere
beneath tender fiery clouds
into the endless skyheart.
too poetic even for a language
of wildest dawns,
lands of blue yonder
and secret stars.
keep on playing
to fuel the suns
(for a man who inspires me with his incendie)
i was sitting in a cafe recently and spotted a mother and a son at the table nearby. the young man peered into an iPhone. he smiled, but it wasn’t a healthy but a disturbing and an almost empty smile, as if he wore a pale mask. his mother was drinking a coffee and tried to talk to him sometimes, but it was futile as the young man replied in ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or nothing at all, and couldn’t take his eyes off the phone.
it saddened me a lot and i thought, isn’t it actually a perfect example of the mood and vibes of our times? the time of technology progress and comfort yet the time of disconnection and addictions. once the problem was mostly alcohol and drugs, now it leans towards internet dependence and consumerism. the result is the same: any of these artificial sweeteners may lead to isolation, depression or serious mental pathologies.
the difference of new dependencies is that they are certainly not as obvious. the person invaded by them often doesn’t realize that it’s time to stop and considers his/her way of life healthy, the ego boosted for short flashes of time until reality breaks through. at a closer look it’s clear that he/she regularly and later constantly suffers from anxiety/insomnia/low self-esteem, lacks communication, feels general weakness, is able to feel happiness and euphoria only being online or shopping.
what i need to say, if anyone with a similar problem is reading it, please don’t be ashamed of your condition. if you are already aware of what happens to you, that’s the first step to recovering. i’m certainly not a specialist to help you, only to advice to seek help in self-help books or by professionals if it went too far. strengthen your connection to nature/society and stay closer to your relatives and dear friends and pets. find a way to feel the beauty of the place surrounding you without the need to be somewhere else to feel happy.
if this little rambling helped anyone even a bit, i’m happy.
lots of love.
the drum of a warrior’s heart
spreads an anthem of North
as the wagnerian rain
of silver phantom stars
pierce the firmament and fall
mingling with salt of the earth
to revive the legends of old.
a shimmering whirl
of abysmal dark and ancient light
by the lake of welkin tears
reflects the alchemy of primal flame,
its essence winding through our spirits
to burn the sorrow away and purify.
and dancing along
the hidden path
we become air,
I would never find the burning domes and sands
Where reigns the sun, nor dare the deadly snows
Nor seek in mountains dark the landscapes of the men
Long lost to whom no pathway goes
(lyrics to the song based on the The Lay of the Children of Húrin and a Tolkien’s poem about St. Brendan’s death, called Imram)
a vesper star
searching for solace
aflutter on the wings
of a passing blizzard
her cyan shimmer
along the cello nocturne
of a secret dream.
there are hands
a dawn of butterflies
touching the holy sun
with the soul of azure sea
and ashen clouds.
and not a word is needed,
not a doubt,
not a sound.
everything is trembling.
everything is bright.