I opened the window
And heard my neighbour
Playing la vie en rose
And recalled
how I used to hold you on the phrase:
"When you press me to your heart
I'm in a world apart
A world where roses bloom"
And I keep this memory
written on page 303
Of a book I'll never open.
(full poem in caption)-
Today,
I felt the wind around me
wrap me in autumn memories, once again.
Of ochre leaves and damaged trees...
(read full poem in caption)-
i seek your presence
in the blooming of a bud
and the rising of a sun.
//you're my hope//-
i look into your eyes
and i see metaphors,
bound in,
in the name of light,
that is synonymous
to my name for you.
//i'm a home for you//-
i feel nostalgic
for,
the essence of the flowers(people)
i've seen blooming
even in the autumns.-
i absorb
the noiselessness
in my head
containing esoteric muses
that held melancholia
like a cusps of flowers
holding voids.
silent and sober
they stir the fragrances
of the grim past
and pour them out
in the hollowness of the soul.
like they are made
to stick on your skin
and each time you touch it
they'll prick you with their venom
of the thousand silhouetted nights
that were no absolutes
but, just a mirage
of the undone memories
and our unreal closeness.-
That red shirt still kept at an impervious corner in her wooden cupboard, profuses the fragrance of their intense, yet faded love.
-
The real laziness is not lying up in bed for almost 12 hours unpositioned.
The joy of real laziness is like sleeping like a sleeping beauty for years, carelessly, peacefully, drowning into the magic of visualizations, in the real scent of mysterious bliss and complacency.
-
i align
the letters of your name,
like the trail of stars aligned in unison
to gaze at them,
and engulf some more light
amidst the moon.-
i smear your name
like watercolors
on the canvas of my palms,
and pour your image
on the white sheets of paper
with metaphors on my fingertips.
//you're my art//-