The shadows have risen. What do the shadows do? What is their story? They’re lying in wait, To hide the abysmal feelings of possession, That prickle your skin and hitch your breath, Of only you and only me.
The marble moon doesn’t fuss To slam the door open. The smell of desire, Carries its mist into my soul, And I, incoherent and stunned, Follow you.
12o’clock, the old violin of time, Marks the time before your kiss. My name is Whisper, Closing your eyes you hear me every night, Word upon murmured word…..
Love…. We turn our faces and then bow to belonging, The shadows, Forever the weavers ………. of you and me.
Visual Verse is an anthology of art, poetry, short fiction and non-fiction. You can find more information about it here Visual Verse . Each month published or unpublished authors are asked to write something, within an hour, inspired by an image. The image for this month was the one above. And here is a poem I wrote about it( it hasn’t been published at their website and I don’t know if it will be chosen to be part of their anthology, but to me, is the experience that counts) :
We come from the place Where the air and the water make home, Where thundering hearts smile at each other And paint Valentines red.
On our perfect orb, We roam through space And lie in the meadows of the Sun and the Moon.
It looks a lot like freedom But here beasts roam free, Their waggling tongues are licking our place of its warmth and its beauty, While their tails blow boundless seas of wild dust, Entombing our sky. Our lungs are filled with smog, We lost sight of our reflection, And dust is catching in our dry, voiceless throats.
Weakened we come to you, weakened but hopeful. Please master, tame them with your hands And quench their thirst. Please master, make our world the way it used to be, And let forests grow, The oceans thrive, And season after season, We would feel again, The nature’s beauty and its perfect harmony.
American Progress, painting by John Gast, 2017. Image from Wikipedia.org, WikiCommons
In reaction of judge Ruth Ginsburg death, I wrote a poem, which I am sharing with you below. I am worried for what happens in our politics. I want peace, progress and a better future. This is what we are known for, we are a country of open minded, kind people that care about each other. People that came here to escape religious persecution (that doesn’t mean that you cannot be any religion you choose!), founders of this land who came here with their dreams, California’s gold diggers who came here to change their lives, immigrants who came on ships to follow their American Dream, ALL came here for a better life, for equal opportunities. This is who we are, this is what makes us different from other parts of the world, where you cannot speak your mind or where you have cast systems that will prevent you from achieving your potential, because you’re not born into it.
America means progress. America means equality. America means fairness and equal opportunity. America means freedom. America means gender equality. American means us, all of us.
And here is the story I wrote, it’s the story of our founding mothers and fathers. And that, unless your are a native American, lives in all of us.
She, born in the land of sewed mouths, And tall fences, Made it to the shore. She touched her wings, Bruised in her erratic flight To escape to freedom.
Guardians of the new land came and took her, Some had assuming eyes and asked about her journey. She looked up at the eagle flying in the sky, And smiled.
She didn’t have a map to show her journey of yesterday, But just like the eagle flight, high and free, Her dreams and hopes were fearlessly flowing through her veins, Holding promises of a shinier, better tomorrow.
She took the cotton rag strapped across her chest, And kissed the picture of another Compressed in charcoal. She folded its burned edges, Still smelling like her mom’s cooking, And stud up, Until the guards let her follow the music, Of the valleys and mountains of this newfound land.
The memory of her first step joined others, Next to big and small footprints. The dirt road looked like an eternal mosaic jigsaw puzzle, With different colors. She smiled as her mark added more meaning, To its one big, and still in progress story.
My dear fellow bloggers and readers, This is not a poem, it is not a post that shares my insights, opinions or my personal research. This is a post dedicated to you. It is a note of gratitude to you.
As I am approaching a year since I started writing here, I want to thank you all for reading my work, for being supportive and for inspiring me. Some of you have been here from the beginning and you have witnessed my ever-evolving perspectives.
Every day I receive messages and comments on my writing. I want you to know that every “like”, every comment and every minute that you spend reading my work is greatly appreciated. If I had made one of you feeling more understood, less alone or if I bought some kind of new knowledge to you, then to me, that is a success. It makes me happy.
Social media often creates a culture of self-promotion. But that is not what we are doing here. We write about different topics, we write about our everyday human experiences, and about our feelings and our emotions.
We create. And that is what matters.
While in quarantine, I have finished writing a novel. It is about life in communist Romania during the 80’s. Much of it is inspired by my life and that of my father. I am very excited about it. I think it is a really good book :)> (sorry for being so confident, but I feel truly feel that it is a really good book:)). And with that, I also want to thank you for helping me grow as a writer.
Thank you all for who you are, and for being part of my journey,
Crying, The tears of your eyes fall in the ashes, Scattered on the streets. Your thoughts don’t stand tall, But crumble with the buildings, Down on the ground beneath your feet.
You join the other countless voices screaming, And feel inside you fear carving the walls of your skin.
A man looks from a window and then he looks at you, He put his jacket on to keep him warm in his trip to eternity. You want to fly every time you take a step And grab the arms that rise from dust and broken glasses, But you cannot, you cannot help them.
It smells like it’s never going to stop raining with pain, It smells of heartbreak and no tomorrows, It smells of burning candles at the funeral of hope.
Not a word said, You’re crying for the lost, You’re crying because you don’t know what eternity looks like.
All the wrongs of the past time bombard your eyes, What has life become? Is it too late to change it?
You bang your skinned knuckles At the door of the future And vow to go on a scavenger hunt All over the world, To find prayers, good deeds, And promises that stories like this will never repeat.
Note: Today is 9/11 and I remember it. I remember the faces, the terror, and everything that came with it. I will never forget. But that it is not the only thing that I will never forget. Although I only seen them in movies, like Schindler’s list, or read them in books like “Hiding in the Spotlight”, I will never forget the stories of the Jewish people whose spirts were lost during the Holocaust. The same, I will never forget the faces and stories of Syrian kids, and the ones of their parents, that were war refugees in Jordan. I took some interviews, and these were firsthand, heartbreaking stories. I kneel in front of their pain and wish that we will never repeat the mistakes of the past. I am sure that each of us have our experiences. I am sure that each of us have memories that have shattered our hearts. But I think we should do our best to bring light into this world, the way we can. I think each of us contribute, in small or big ways, to spread love and not hatred, to spread acceptance and kindness.
Photo: “Heart on Fire.” Piotr Siedlecki , Public Domain license.
I walk on paths Among the crowds of souls touring this world.
Blinded by dreams of you, I fell into the poets’ hell, Where the opacity of night is brighter than the light of day. Bathing in flames, I pound my fists against the wall of your indifference, Can’t you hear me?
Love cannot be tamed, My passion rules and I obey, Don’t let me live Into a world of heart break without time.
Forever hopeful, I knock, A thousand aching fissures have appeared on your glacier, I wait…. Swaddled in butterflies, For a rift to appear, And you to emerge…..
I talked about this a while ago, but now I really miss London!
Under Waterloo train station in London, there is a place called the Vaults of London. While you admire the Graffiti on the entrance, you could easily pass by this place! If it wasn’t for my two London friends, Simon and Lisa, I would have not found this UNUSUAL, INTERESTING and ….one of a kind place!
From outside, you would never imagine the immensity inside. It is a long tunnel, all covered in Graffiti.
I hear that they change the art all the time, as new artists are coming to paint or make other unusual art pieces.
I kept looking up….I almost stumbled and fell, that’s how mesmerizing it is.
What’s even more interesting is that the main tunnel opens up into more vaults, each with their specific purpose. They even have theatre underground!
If you’re in London, check out this place! Check out their events, you’ll have a one of a kind experience!