beauty, clouds, creative-writing, Desire, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Poems, Poetry

A Circle of Memories

Warmth is a long sedimentary pause,
sip it slowly, relish it.
My eyes have taught me the art of forgetting, 
My heart has almost perfected it.

Too much of an interlude
and the spaces around you
start spewing nostalgic visions,
sabbatical turns into the ruins,
the moment one begins to dream

I dreamt of a normality which I always fear:
A morning in July with no rain,
where my hands spread as far as the sky, but they never find you.

We should have woken up when It was still winter 
our sleeping hearts still booming with summer’s dream.
cold distant stars, falling white snow
hearts in unison, brewing warmth
eyes sipping this pause sip by sip

Time was a circle of memories 
when you were here. 
Always.

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beauty, creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love

A Pause , for Love

This road which I travel everyday,

Feels heavy for your hands disappears
when I look for it : 

In reality
dreams
and the sensation of your smell.

A sunlight isn’t warm
when you don’t hear a laugh that wakes you up.
It is shallow,
the plants aren’t as soft as they were,
the coffee is acidic somehow.

I trace you
in meetings,
lunch
and the in the soft warmth of the dinner
How do I replace us from you.
to sweeten this all,
I decipher a picture
a picture of us.

to quantify a smile is difficult
to quantify a distance behind is impossible
I shall wait for a proper sunlight,
the perfect darkness of the night
with you,
Its the least I can do,
Its the most I am doing.

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Articles, beauty, Books, clouds, creative-writing, dream, Drinks, fiction and poetry

To seek happiness in eyes

A Golden retriever
bathed in his golden fur,
the heart breathes an air of love,
as nature intended

A Cabin horse
breathing fire
as the heart pumps
on every touch of grass

A Fish in the deep blue
swimming across an airless ocean,
her eyes so waterproof,
her heart prone to catchings

they dwell in the same hours
as we do, embracing the nature
without causes, without pursuits
like a man without eyes
lost in a dark cave
eager to touch the holy sculptures of truth

our eyes, senses making us blind.
the heart never pumps,
the grass never touched
the water is never has been airless

yet we live in a planet
called life.

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beauty, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Imagine, Life, Writings

Love is a Mirror

It’s a transparent glass
for when I see myself
I am seeing you seeing me,
from the corners, from the glass
smiling at me without a reason

my anxious heart can’t bear this
the mercury and the reflection’s creation.
Unless I hear you
or see you, before all this
my morning disturbs itself
by your visions and voices.

This distance somehow,
has nothing to do with
memories of ours,
We humans have built computers,
without emotions and a without heart
but at the end of day
I shall seek you in mirrors,
seeking our heart, seeking ourselves

I peek in the mirror
and the shaving blade cleaves through my chin,
somehow the flower blossoms, like every morning
because I see you, smiling at me
for love is a mirror.

you are my mirror.

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fiction and poetry

Autumn

I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the red grey sky with the still heart.
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.

Clasping my arms like a climbing plant
the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace.
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.
Sweet blue love twisted over my soul.

I feel your eyes traveling, and the autumn is far off:
voice of a bird, is sometimes like a house
Towards which my deep longings migrated
And my kisses fell, happy as embers.
Because you are my distant home

Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!
Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings were blazing.
Dry autumn leaves revolve in your soul.

Treat my heart, as a first drop of rain.
I arrive unannouced, kissed by dying sunlight.
There is nothing you can do, just breathe
I am more than a memory.
I am a thought shaped by touch.

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