like a mutual prayer
to the endless emerald forest
from our secret childhood kingdoms
you remember so well
you melt me
to your aquarelle river
and i flow through you in braille
yet feeling you tightly hold my hand at this nature’s temple
and unvoiced delirious words discover a certain meaning
blooming between elven trees
summoning the antique muse
of aegean depths
float over an enchanted lake
under the dome of radiant sky
and i soothe your fever
nourishing the orphaned soil of your isle
with my summer chamomiles’ nectar
cool rain waters dry air
breeze is tenderly brushing your face
thorns and silk,
silk and rust;
of an omen flame
into inner indigo
with exiled lips
wording air doors
through onyx walls
and ashbound corridors
of obsidian idols
by their boiling blood ballad
that burnt his chest
until aurora arrived
to taste drops of a grail’s nectar
extracted from the core
of this carpe noctem tempest
amidst the mud and soot
of decadent parisian streets.
['Quand viendra l'hiver aux neiges monotones, je fermerai partout portières et volets pour bâtir dans la nuit mes féeriques palais']
she smells warm soil
and you are sea-green tears,
winterly raw antiqued water
for a garden of her blushing petals.
she is flesh and you are feathers-
an aerial psalm echoed in her bloodpassages,
harbinger of a dream nightly dancing
across her dead amber leaves.
with clumsy fingers
she weaves the cherished fabric
of landscapes on a quiet lost evening-
and you emanate like a beautiful meadow
when the light kneels
towards your deepest heartbeat
of her aching devotion.
i am random skin, bone, muscle
and the unseen fog of somber dreams
ribbed into an obscure ghost wood.
if you embrace me
too slow and afraid
to distract or hurt you.
until i fall too deep
you are freedom
gliding across the remnants
of my unsure tenderness
and the ocean of fractured time’s bones.
you stand with arms wide open
on the edge of this mourning graveroom
welcoming autumnal breeze and everyone
as beneath the rolling fog
i shape silver paper moons
for sailors to say farewell and voyage away
towards the igneous lighthouse
of an undefined remote life.
where waters surged and dahlias bloomed
you told me it’s better to just be
amidst footprints left by those
burnt on the pyres of a battlefield.
i still feel the slow aquamarine smolder
that shall not fade
yet weeping i yearn for your sacred sigh,
for your gentle power to grow and live.
there was something
so deeply rooted in lands of a dry planet,
in houses that collect sunless books’ dust
and alleys leading to a nightmarish coast-
but you attach garlands of roses
to black novellas and monastic habits,
repair shattered jukeboxes
and play death-defying melodies.
you chase a sentient moment,
of a sea-salted recluse in my arteries-
a ghost dwelling by the realm of gray heights-
to soothe the ache with cleansing candlelight,
to stir willow’s bare branches
with your softer brilliance beams.
you spill my featureless soul
upon the pure snow
where it turns to a rilkean nightingale
and disappears into your reviving gaze.
your holy weathered hand beckons
and though too often
i only bleed bitter rose wine
trying not to stop, falling again and again,
in your eyes, in your warm eyes
i learn to see a path to the song
‘breathe me here and now’
['Isn't it time
that these most ancient sorrows of ours
- Rainer Maria Rilke]
this special stillness
engulfing the spirit’s deep valley
reigns only on crystal clear
when every nuance
of billowing sky and vulnerable land
is reflected in serenity
of the river’s innocent eyes.
aurora unveils a golden gown
hued by raw sienna and soft crimson
lacing jewelled leaves
with cotton oblivion.
squirrels still hide
from traces of the first night frost
while birches awaken
to the canticle of monastery bells.
the saddest thing is seeing
when two people love each other
inventing intricate reasons
not to be together.
what is the meaning of a slammed door
if for true love there are no walls?
the heart is simple and unlimited.