untitled

don’t tell me to leave because i don’t deserve pain.
first, i deserve pain. second, darkness is my shelter and hurt doesn’t scare me at all. besides, i don’t believe in bliss anymore. but i believe in human love and friendship.

see, there’s much more beauty in the way you hold a cigarette than in all eloquent serenades knights ever sang to their ladies by dawn.

and know there’s nothing wrong if you fight when it’s time to fight.
there’s nothing wrong in being angry when you need to let go or speak against what you stand for.
there’s nothing wrong in being you.

you don’t have to change to look brighter in the eyes of world.

do you know how beautiful you are right now?

elements

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,
water,
soil
and fire.

skyborn

there is
a vesper star
searching for solace
aflutter on the wings
of a passing blizzard
delicately cascading
her cyan shimmer
along the cello nocturne
of a secret dream.

there are hands
captured by
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.

 

(for N.)

appassionata

we are separate spheres
of a supernova,
collapsed silhouettes
under the birthing nebula
of a midnight lantern

exploding within radiance
to become one
as remnants of a dead star

and i vanish willingly
to this smoldering
like delicate violet violence
while the expanding universe
echoes the solar wind
bearing fragmented life
to unseen new worlds
in its infinite motion

yet my only feeling
is the collision
of our chaotic dark
with memories of galaxies
burnt apart by muted aches
of a bleeding sun

 

tea house in summer (III)

scented smoke of red berry candles
mingles with lush august air,
the late hour blooming with ripeness of sounds:
nocturnes for the forest, a vigil of whispers,
a gentle weeping near the flowing river,
a lullaby of secret sapphire bells,
a wind’s jasmine sigh of relief.

satori steams the antique air with pastel temples,
alights on reverie’s transparent branches
revealing the brilliance of dreamblue fireflies
as the remedy is charmed with hands like cotton
to reach for the soul of nectar’s rustling light
wrapping it in silken lime perfumes;

on the porch
where the day left its emerald mark
crystal moonbeams sleep soulfully

and in the musing moment
when obscure clouds solemnly rever
the quiet of a wood path
and leaves of hushed willows show the way
towards the valley’s meadow shelter
within his gaze
shines the birth of a tiny diaphanous world,
abode of sacred ether songs.

 

 

(yelena 2014)

dark and light

 

i’ve met light-bearers,
self-fulfilling prophets
looking into the mirror
to worship the glory
of their own infinite bliss,
speaking words of love
and luring the lost
to lands of poisoning sweets.

i’ve met shadow loners,
quiet soaring spirits
traveling along somber realms,
silently embracing the weak
and giving a tired kiss
to the hopeless,
whispering in a language
of unnoticed nocturnal dreams.