the one

i walk to you
where shrines are paved
with flowered mosaic
of elevation
and desert paths lead
towards the music
of a pilgrim’s flight.

you are shadow-soft, mage.
yet you compose conjured dawns
on these hands
and i don’t even notice
the stream of hours.
my hope is templed
by this expanse
of a trembling eve sky,
a gentle strength of your ruins,
a phantom lantern in the chamber
of nocturnes that unfold
a sacrament of homecoming
for the myrrh-scented solace.

all ashes and agonies and exiles
are afloat now,
resurrected into antique suns.
{beauty heals and breaks.
breaks and heals}
on each side
of a torn page,
a symbol of light.

my song is an echo of aeons
caressed by the slow zephyr shimmer
when dusk surrenders its essence
to your realm of the miracle,
a floral abyss
of a monsoon-gestured universe
where a lotus
is enchanted by a blessing sigh
of a seraphim’s smile.

your song
is a slow blue eclipse
and the gathering of moonbeams
within the soul of holy water,
a blooming and blurring
of luminous bells and velvet arms
in a sandstorm
fringed with cyan pulses.
a gentle fever of inner winds.
a blend of the tender and wild.
the birthing and evanescence.
the swirl and the whispered calm.

how delicate is the night
when rains
from your clouded rose become
earthy tears
and hidden waterfalls

and your reveries
shape everything divine

.

.

.

(yelena 2014)

written on sky, softly

if a broken night
ever breaks the light,
hold on

to the sun dance,
forests’ silence we
belong

candles whisper far
reaching midnight stars
that burn

now say what’s true,
now close and you
return

if you bathe in rain
not erasing pain,
i learn

blizzard winters,
they in splinters
won’t turn

paint a flower red
hiding tears shed,
hold on

to the sun dance,
forests’ silence we
belong

conjurer

 

i discover your melody
on the way to village
in silent flights

when a snow cloud
plays soft piano blue
and the wild earth
dreamfully smiles

you are a child’s laughter
and ocean magic.
a dawn’s breath
warming the rocky shore.

you may dwell nowhere
and everywhere

yet you are home.

.

.

.

(for S.)

choice

imagine two realms.
let us call them ‘happy woods’ and ‘haunted house’

in the first one, a beautiful sunlit forest spreads its oaks towards the calm sea. open spaces are abloom with bright flowers. animals peacefully stroll and birds sing odes to soft breeze. when the night arrives, the sky brings soothing sleep, and in the morning you awaken to peaceful thoughts, smiles around you and plans for a productive day. you feel strong and confident, and your body flourishes like nature around. even when heavy rains begin to fall, you are sheltered and embraced in warmth and care.

in the second one, severe winds blow through a castle situated amidst naked fields of ice. all day long you walk from one strange somber room to another strange room. stricken with fever, you feel a spell over you, some invisible hands cage your body not letting it leave the castle or even close the howling windows. from time to time you arrive at a room with the mirror framed with dark gold, until once you see no reflection of yourself in it anymore, only the fog. and sometimes you hear a voice, but you don’t understand the language it speaks.

now imagine two doors. one leading to the first realm, and another to the second.
you choose the first one. but you’ll always know there is something wrong. because it’s not the realm where your heart was born.

alchemy of sound

 

it’s four a.m.
and the morning still waits
to arrive to the point
of soft autumn breaking.

along the path of southern wind
a candle delivers flaming symphonies
to silent dormant lanterns
spreading its tiny yet luminous sphere
towards the door of dawn.

he sings a glowing sonnet
scrolled from the scripture
of amethyst stars
to the rhythm of a fervent dance
of warm lilac monsoon where soul flies.

and his voice breathes bold spring
into chambers of earth’s aches
turning every quiet sorrow
to the velvet shelter
of mirthful melodies
sculptured by ocean’s tenderness
and the new day’s music of skies.

yelena 2014

she, embracing him in the dark

she spoke
to a rain-scented leaf
on the pavement
about waters
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
between pages
of an ancient book
about fairy skies

and cried tenderly
until her tears became
the most beautiful song
for his quiet forsaken paradise