Sunflower

For Vincent

You took one step forward and tell me

you planted all the secrets deep in the soil

 “van Gogh would’ve known,” you said.

With warmth on your smile you took a step

backward and let me tend it

wounds you would not let anyone peek

I guarded it as if it was mine to keep

precious, vulnerable

hoping someday it will grow and grow

to be the love of a lifetime

Spring came but it never bloomed

the roots hardened

the branches broke

and cracks appeared like terrible veins

on my wrist

I watered and watered with nothing but

teardrops and agony

But it died leaving no whisper

nor love

And I do realize

van Gogh would have known

for it was selfish lies you buried underneath

Love, May & November

Memoir of Love

It wasn’t Love at the first sight

It surely wasn’t.

For we left our drinks and fries

to the cold summer night

waiting for Time to save us

from the awkwardness of life

How did we meet

and not fall in love with words again?

I imagined every Love began with ballroom dance and magic pumpkin

and ended with a ballad and a touch to the lips.

I must have mistaken.

It wasn’t Love at the second sight

It surely wasn’t.

The day we were standing in front of a grave

of someone who was brave and loved,

of someone who asked us:

“Did speaking in silence

and kissing each other’s tears

finally mean something?”

our shadows were busy playing hide and seek

and chasing footsteps of ghosts

and questions we were afraid to face.

We went home

full of remorse

then promised to write each other letters tomorrow

but tomorrow never came.

It wasn’t Love at the third sight

It surely wasn’t.

As our feet walked past the coast,

with stillness echoing behind,

we found ourselves softly muttering:

“Were we too in love with Pride and not with Love itself?”

So, for the first time in our life, drop the mask,

hold my hand and slow dance to the fire.

Let the masquerade burn and

bury me where Dante abandoned his dreams.

The Devil wouldn’t mind,

knowing Love came without pretense

and mended a hole in his soul.

It wasn’t Love at the fourth sight

or fifth, or sixth, or seventh,

or more.

But I did find Love

in these dark times,

in this prayer,

not in you nor me

but just in this little space between us.

I surely did.

For Love is not found in impermanence,

but in a place where infinite transcends.

Today I Would Like to Tell The Ocean about An Unexpected Love Story

The Short-Haired Girl

I keep thinking of the short-haired girl

Who fell out love with words

Who spent her time asking “what are dreams made of?”

Who made a secret deal with The Devil

And married Death.

I keep thinking of the short-haired girl.

Someone Aphrodite would kiss

Someone Scott Fitzgerald would fall for

“Eyes like emerald,” he would say

Eyes only Selene would have

Eyes that petrify sin and judge mankind in her sleep

To-morrow or to-day

I keep thinking of the short-haired girl

Whose tears fall from the brimming ache

As the angels fell from Heaven

Grace, fidelity

“I’m running from a nightmare to another,” she would cry

But what was she looking for?

A lullaby?

Or someone to lay her head on?

Between the stars she would sit

To rule love like Lilith

But the stars were shining a little too late

Now she hates a little too great

I keep thinking of the short-haired girl

Who I care and I hold dear.

Even if silence is too deafening

And love won’t reach her arms

I will love the short-haired girl

Until the birds swim

And the foxes dance like lovers.

Love Story of The Spring

My delusion angel,

My fantasy parade,

can you see with those brown eyes?

The sun and the moon, down the silver sky

Wandering through the mist, searching for a kiss

There, in the city of nobody,

in the crossing

of dreams,

of hopes,

of lust,

of despair;

their eyes,

their secrets,

their softness of flesh,

indignity and harmony,

found each other.

How fate is as beautiful as the Spring

And Spring is wholly you

Now the clocks whir and chime.

And the birds start chirping.

And the rain starts singing

And the first flower in the world begins to bloom.

Oh, my dear my angel,

can you see it?

Can you see it already?

For life is a blessing,

and love has no endings.