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Anahita
Anahita (26 feb 2015,Luxembourg) Another sea, inside her… moves… rebels… concedes… and finds calmness everyday Much bigger, much more uncontrollable the wavy thoughts, splashing her feelings , emotions, dreams… Her self-awareness, matches the flight of the seagulls sitting on the wind, flying over the world and the wind smells of gone by moments (they always do!)
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Butterfly dreams
Butterfly dreams In my dreams I keep opening you as a butterfly opens her wings ready to fly into unknown worlds… and sounds of that wing’s flapping often open my eyes and often, long after waking up I find my self in those unknown worlds dreaming you with open eyes…. 15 dec 2014 Luxembourg Inspired by another poet’s idea of a butterfly.
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Openings and Closings..
Openings and Closings.. I keep opening you in my dreams, in my songs, in my search for reasons in my reasons for living layers after layers, thoughts after thoughts like those nesting Russian dolls And by some strange magic you become bigger and bigger in my dreams, in my songs thoughts after thoughts as if i am not opening you but closing my self into a bigger you 7 Jan 2015 luxembourg
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Hints
Hints Like slight hints of cinnamon and cloves whispering songs of antiquity in a perfume full of wild roses of Isparta I feel you… in those hints of life. Missing… yet so much there all present , yet all hiding As if, though covered in thousand veils of silk curtains in concrete medieval fortresses in skies after skies of surrounding nudity, Yet all these efforts of veiling reveals you more and more.. Like a universe revealing itself in the eyes of the smallest Babushka doll. And I write these songs of longing and hope in pursuit of those slightest hints of cinnamon and cloves. And i wonder If , in…
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These days and nights
These days and nights Smiling…and smiling again, your thoughts awakes me. Taking those long deep breaths, I smell my morning tea Observing those Rooibos thoughts of you simmering… infusing….blending giving their better selves to hot water… (In those moments I think one should live life like a tea) Stopping by the traffic signal Watching one of us, two raindrops sliding slowly on the windscreen The one moving faster than the other asks ,Why? All day Fingers speak and eyes listen the dance of the dots, on a one ft screen. The keyboard beats like a heart beat The real heart beats somewhere else And in that somewhere place I find…
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Ode to a broken Hair
Ode to a Broken hair Tangled-up in a purple sweater, a broken long blonde hair. soaked in some free moments of yesterdays Twisting, moaning ,imprisoned in time (Not willing to give up it’s momentary existence) An iceberg, a sun, traveling, moving country by country heart by heart Carrying along, cold snow of so many winters Different places, so many people, just one story. A grandmother near a window, holding an empty pot of a ‘gone flower’ A grandfather, with smoky bearings somewhere up in the skies, smiling A mother, concerned of her grownup children A father, thinking, who will show up next smiling. Generations of unborn children dancing in a…
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Desire Imprisoned
“Desire”, imprisoned in this long, vast prison of “Life”. Just like remembering an old forgotten melody tries to find herself… Her feet of “thoughts” tired of so much walking in the dark beg her to stop and rest for a while But “Desire” What can a “Desire” do When this mighty black monster of “being-ness” With a leather whip soaked in with still wet memories reminds her of passing time. And even with this 4th cup of Bitter coffee in Stockholm central station this distance of just one lifetime between you and me does not seem to end S. (Verses born in the midst of discussions with self) Stockholm
