This heart, dosed on Chopin and Bach
Traces your voice, a subtle echo even , somehow,
What is silence to a room full of devoted hearts
waiting to bloom,
I know : ones without an unforgivable autumn
will wait and wait
my love, I seek a way out
to you and your summer.
In the end, the tress
Drizzle and disappear,
There is no night in this summer
someone spilled the sky’s heart red.
Yesterday I thought of you
And the yesterday before
It seems as if my yesterdays
Are full of nothing more.
It is not only yesterdays
of which you’ve entered in
For tomorrow is soon to come
Where more thoughts of you begin
to never end, dissolve or disappear.
This is my beautiful paradox.
My prison without keys
My evening without the sun
My heart without memory
For you are always there.
SB
I tried talking but somehow couldn’t
I waited but it was not worthwhile.
How can I make you a moment,
and disappear forever
You stay and exist as a glass,
beautiful and untouchable ,
Even In my house of touches.
I am not the winter that dies,
Not the summer that is unbearable,
I am the moon,
I work on the tides.
Shall we dive once?
As you promised.
I need you in waves,
To drift wherever you want.
Just once again.
The sky is gray
A continuous shade
I bask in its glory.
The mud turns to clay
A storm is in play
But it never comes.
Each day stays the same
I don’t have to change
A stagnating story.
Your picture is still there,
a lip balm disappears.
Some memory of yours , still undone.
The sky is gray
I love this cliché
I’m comfortably numb.
It has been a long hiatus, I have migrated to a new city, joined a new workspace , made an entire library and workstation but I miss the soothing of the writing I used to have. This hiatus grows on me, every time I try to sleep in the night, I wonder how my words sleep, aching, bellowing in despair to be entangled in a original thought.
It’s difficult to say where to begin and why, I must excuse the exits and replenish this sight. For today although I am drowning in my bed in this darkness, from tomorrow I shall be burning this sabbatical. It’s time to pour, outpour and flood the thoughts, lets begin, shall we?
Yesterday I thought of you
And the yesterday before
It seems as if my yesterdays
Are full of nothing more.
It is not only yesterdays
Of which you've entered in
For tomorrow is soon to come
Where more thoughts of you begin
to never end, dissolve or disappear.
Thirst is a dryness that floats from the throat : a snow that burns everything like a voiceless cold fire, a pure river polluted with a meaningless existence,a reality that drinks bottles of dreams without regret,a death caressed ominously with warm hands,a shadow unloved in the brightest sunlights.
It is a blessing and it is a curse.
It is just a human sometimes,
too much loved.
Writings to Heaven 