"She whispered her evanescence into me.
She would meet me in the valley, too
When she would be passing by
On the day of the bursting bubble
She would sleep upon my heart
Sing songs of melancholia to me
Taking me to...."
MY OTHER BLOG
Have you heard the frozen seas People, they used to call me a painter I couldn't paint your tears Freeze my heartbeat, then. I'm old Just permit me of dreaming, one night
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MAGICIAN: The Clown
BIO: I'm living inside my shadows and trying to study the effects of darkness on my skin..... if only it was rashes, if only it was rust, if it was a tattoo....... If I could write poetry.
"My tribute to the world of magical realism. Where Imagination, too, is imaginary. The world of paradoxes and fallacies. Standing on the edge of the dreams. Falling asleep. Falling. A fall against gravity. And suddenly you realize that you have transcended space and now, are falling in time. To the beginnings of eternity. Illusions."
When Darkness Blinks
"A blog where I just keep on posting some of the random scribblings that I do. They are just some pieces of flash fiction that I scrap most of the times and forget. I use them most often as an outlet to by accumulating emotions. So, you can't really expect anything good out of them. But, at least, I'll feel I'm still breathing."
Love Hymns - 1
Death, Return Me
On the dark, unpainted night?
Splashing on the rocks
Dying into smaller droplets, unmoving.
Have you heard the frozen waves?
But it was a wrong name
I couldn't paint you in the dark
I needed light to paint you
I needed sight to recognize you
Painting, perhaps, is not of sights
As much as it is of sounds –
There’s music in the darkness
And I was deaf
I couldn't paint your voice.
I’m a sinner. A dreadful sinner.
I couldn't paint your screams.
So, you became the droplets
In some lonely painter's sea.
And it was not me
Jesus, it was not me.
So, I don't look at paintings anymore
Neither do I listen to them.
I’ve taken my refuge in sands
In which I dream of melting
"Sands, scatter me in your being
Becoming the common, and the drab
So that no one shall ever recognize me
Neither call me a painter."
You do not scream any more
The pain has become your home
A standstill has been your life
Death is the window to outside
Tell me, don't you stare outside?
Say me, don't you search me there?
Of a maddening sandstorm
That would carry me in her heart
And leave me on the shore
Of the frozen sea, in one corner of your home
Where you've become a droplet, unmoving
Let us sleep in each other's arms
A droplet in the sand
"Death, return me to my lover's arms"
posted @ 5:42 PM
MY OTHER BLOG
Have you heard the frozen seas
People, they used to call me a painter
I couldn't paint your tears
Freeze my heartbeat, then. I'm old
Just permit me of dreaming, one night