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!)

Outside.... somewhere far,
a small boat sails at a distance
the color of the setting sun,
turns into somewhat enjoyable sadness
and the Sea smiles back at her of letting it go (like a mother's understanding smile)

Another moment passes by slowly with a humid breeze
distracted...
she finds herself, again...
wrapped in a sweat soaked skin
sitting on the sand,
smelling the winds
listening to the waves
splashing her feelings , emotions, dreams...
She feels alive, among many friends,
yet alone in her own way....
Lazily she collects her wings,
and with one last smile for her own consumption
flies back to a world (that does-not really exist)....

Thousands of miles away,
sailing in those seas
watching the same setting sun
A man thinks about her, with sombre joy.....

S.

Miranda 1916 by John william waterhouse

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

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.

Daily wager

These days
I search and search
in the garden of my thoughts
the best of the best of so many flowers
growing in your love
in order to present to you,
what is already yours.

The thorns of my own desire, wounds me
The happiness in my memories, cures me
and in this constant play of wounding and curing
my joyful day passes

after long days of work
the remaining me in me demand
as a humble wage to my humble labor
a slight curving of your lips
a tiny bit of a smile
and for an even tinnier instant of time
you sending signals of love
in this mysteriously connected universe
that can feed me till my next pay time..........

26 Dec 2014
luxembourg

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 myself nowhere

And than night happens to me
And you happens to me
And my pen becomes my heart
And the heart becomes a universe
And the universe is ever expanding
in all directions...
And my thoughts run in all directions
And in all directions I find you
Like a star...distant... twinkling... so far
Like a pure light....burning... so close
always shining and smiling...
and smiling again
on my childish pursuits...
Your voices haunt me
"You still wearing your watch?"
And you remove my watch with your easy laughter
and I become as nude as a new born
free of time , free of everything,
just born, mumbling, without words
feeling my whole existence with your hands...
and in those moments
we both smile together,
again
and again
and silently often than fly
to a place where time does not exist.

15-Nov 2014
Luxembourg

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 so many curtains and nudity
you make my senses cry with joy,
what if the veils are gone
and I feel you....
beyond nudity, beyond thoughts,
beyond your senses, beyond my senses
beyond these empty words like love... and fears...and time... and living....
beyond everything......

11-Nov 2014
Luxembourg

Desire Imprisoned

"Desire", imprisoned

in this long and 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

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 crystal ball, living and dying.

A single existence, a sea of mirrors, and Abraxas dancing

All so visible, all so tangled up together

on this purple sweater

beyond the ideas of space and time

Tangled-up in a long broken hair

soaked in some free moments

Telling tales of past and future

Who can understand such a beautiful story....

28-oct 2015
( Luxembourg)