Blind Eyes

Colors say that I have gone blind,
Have you known?
Music & Memories,
How loud they sound.

Senses blame my broken mind,
Did you see that?
That I might be blind,
I have been saying the same things,
But the words can’t physically collide,
What went in time.

There were memoirs,
Soaking oceans,
You were sailing wide,
With that smile. 

I am certainly miles in space,
Forgotten in blunders,
Yet I feel and I know,
That colors are right. 



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The Poets In The Cafe

Four of them had lost to themselves. They were not simple to the past, not complex to the future, only words to the present. That is what everything was about, some words. They fell with the rain and surfaced in the taste.

My Muse was in the rain as well, somewhere far or close, how does it matter. Somewhere in the rain with an alien to her potential. It has always been the same talk among the poets, something related to the celestial ink that shapes up their thoughts. From the woman that broke stars into raindrops to the flight waiting up for the next project. From the forgotten coffee to the remembered intricacies of her smile.

There are tattoos engrained in the wood pallets with stories that do not make sense but harmony. And Mathew Arnold said that is enough to save the world, a few words.

Lyre

The sun would keep it slow in the mornings,
And the rivers would trickle along,
The Symphony is born,
Along the transient trough of time.

As the birds wake the wind,
And the sky starts to feel blue,
The tea leaves never breathe the need,
To just listen to the music in my mind.

On the table, your cup stands still,
Disturbing the song of silence,
Memories speak so loud,
Moaning till the clouds come close.

It is raining because the sun was done singing,
And your cup was too loud to love,
Your coffee smoke would have danced in the mist,
Look how incomplete yet subtle.

My guitars don’t move much,
Rather be strummed by the broken winds,
And the forgotten raindrops,
We are rusting with the woods.

I wonder if there will be a person,
Holding your cup and asking me to sing,
With the hidden sun and the rusted strings,
Your faded red hair, memories don’t allow me to be.

The point is not the vacancy,
But the vacation,
Without you.

Memories alter my music,
And reality,
You were a need, dear dream.

Dead Flowers

My eyes are closed and the only thing I sense is nothing. I don’t know what sound shall guide this feeling, but it is happening. In the grave of my mind where the sand is the stillness of this universe. The dark space where I Inhibit within and without.

She would kiss me with flowers. Petals on my dead skin and I don’t know how to tell her this but I think my body has given up years ago. Now that I understand that only my desires lived and not my intent. Might sound all the darker, this space inside my head and I have nothing to say those kisses or the flowers that will eventually die with the fraction of time. I cannot see you anymore because I don’t want to. Yes, I understand that you are practical and none of this makes sense to you. It doesn’t have to make sense to anything at all. Senses are frail weak conscious traps.

I am a young dead man. And these thoughts are surfaced out of the five minutes that my eyes were closed and nothing disturbed. I carefully sensed my death. How in darkest breaths of the space, I would feel these dead flowers touch the earth in all sincerity.

It was never meant to be. Nothing was ever meant to be, but it did happen. Now I don’t really know from where I have the audacity to hurt everyone around me by saying that all of this that we sense is a web and the more we think, the more intense is the trap.

But it won’t be long until the flowers kissing my dead body becomes one with me. That’s what is meant to be. The slow degradation of senses. My dearest fellows might come to feed the dead flowers with some drops of tears, the clouds I mean are fairly dominant to the skies of life. The cries shall help sincerity reach its salvation.

Sailing Sun

“Do you know how it feels?”

” To be possessed by lust?”

“No, to write a poem.”

“I never lose myself entirely like this, this cannot be good.”

“I barely find myself stable enough. I am always lost, yes, not to that extent. Kissing you is different. To suck the nectar from the life that was left with a little rush of blood.”

“You are crazy.”

“Yes.”

I sat down and she kept standing. I wanted to feel the ground for the first time in my life, she was standing the same way, because she wanted to meet the sky. But I sat down, you see, I knew, that I was at the centre of my universe. Next, to a tree and a girl I love, who I just kissed losing all my senses. How weird it is at times when you cannot explain it all to the closest person there is, how amazing it feels. To be honest, it was really scary as well, to see her stand when the sun was finally setting and it was time for us to sleep. But she never sleeps. She just wants to fly and never to be bound by the arms of faith. That’s why I love her, but I want to hold her.

I love you like a poison loves to kill and at times I cannot help.

“Take a walk. Fly. We shall meet some other day when you like.”

“Yes, alone will be better for both of us.”

“It is an old forest. Please take care”

You know what, Sweetheart?

A band playing,
A night,
And a crowd,
Where I have my hand around your waist as usual,
And we see the little glimmer in each other’s eyes,
A little swift,
Then we kiss,
And as the song ends,
We both know where to begin.
In the car,
Headlights to North,
Hearts to sail forever,
Let’s go to the lake! You said,
I think you would like to drive,
On the passenger seat,
Like Sam to your Dean,
Let’s just be.
It all pacifies me,
Your eyes, and to look at the country side sleep,
What beautiful coarse for you to smile,
As our headlight crashes into the shadows of the night,
The lake you infer was deep within,
The mountains,
The empty roads,
The wind,
Your beautiful hair,
Some colour you blend then,
And I imagine now,
What would it be,
Blue rather than the sound?
We might have our common guitar at the back,
And ofcourse I will sing the lap,
Only to see you grin at those broken lines,
Only to find myself in our lonely time.
In the nights,
When we would be alone,
Like those walks,
We took abroad,
To trees that people would never know,
Dear death surreal life,
How it all restores,
Glimpse of the glimmer in your eyes,
I wonder how I will sleep next to the heart that is mine.

Narnia’s Cold Heart (Enceladus)

Narnia is the name of the allusive beautiful woman who never got to travel out of her own body. Beethoven held the violin and extracted so much, but somehow there were times that even the finest music could not hold her universe intact.

The night is approaching and my ship shall crash the moon anytime. It is called Enceladus. It looks like a frozen heart. Cold and alone in the dark. People say there is life inside. But all I know right now is that there is a chance that the cold surface never breaks and I die.

I would tell Narnia, that the world is at times darker than we perceve and she would argue that it was all light and we were sleeping. As I am being pulled by the minute gravity of Narnia’s frozen heart, I wonder, if she was ever told how beautiul the pull was, how amazing it would be for a man like me to fall in love with her. She was young because she stood still adoring the world she cannot reach and I was old enough to crash into love.

Once in for all.

Love sustains time better than death.

Dear Narnia, there will be a time when your heart shall melt, because the sun shall appoach the lost planets. For now, here I am about to make you feel a rush inside with all my life.

I love you,

A lost life.