The birth of a poem...

The essence of very tiny detail, like a carefully placed comma, or an invisible sigh of admiration, distilled into dewdrops sliding over the long green leaves that protect tulips from overexposure, redeeming the beautiful bold color and adding a dimension of its own.

Then letting it go into thin air, like a weightless particle,arriving in far-away places, like a carefully thought-out idea, a blissful singular event, a flash of infinitesimal brightness, arriving at noon, completely negating shadows and at the same time completely absolving them.

The reign of calm arrived with these words and it is here to stay...

Thursday, February 27, 2014


The hand that holds the knife
slashing through the canvas with systematic precision
doesn't belong to me.
I can't own up to such deranged outbursts
Better detach and describe, listlessly, wistfully
A pristine clean canvas like the sky in early spring
Shredded, sliced, exposing the background to nothingness.
Far away from art, closer to pain.
And again...
Sizzling golden traces in the indigo water
Light, like seismic lines, bathes in the lake
The night bears no grudges and holds no prisoners
Of conscience or otherwise.
All bar none. Congruent thinking, or so I thought.
Music without a care or regard to the world of silence.
Underwater mysteries waiting to be told.
Old romantic stories, in yellow letters and dry tears
Faint perfume and sickly sweet sadness
Long fingers tracing the words, like a melody
Over the piano keys, or the body of a woman
Equal sensuality. It touches the right chords.
And the night is immune to screams of pleasure.
Closer to madness. Far away from home.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

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