Where hope is made

by Andrada Costoiu

Image by John Samuel, Library of Congress  (Source: JF Ptak Science Books  Quick Post)

Shadows of souls carried by wings
Embarked to paint visions of stories told and untold.
A dozen missions have now been declared,
In a quest to make the world safe.

A Bird’s eye view flight
Carries the souls who take notes on symbolistic frontiers.
They tap in sights from above
Unsure yet hopeful
That the “differences” they weave intense on their maps
Will debunk old narratives and bring restauration of unity to the people.

A water wagon
Carries the ones who feel the mist in their hearts.
Between the ground down below
And the clouds that swell, 
They’re on a quest to fertilize the seeds of existence.
They tend to the youthfulness of flowers and to all other species,
And in in synchronous voice, they glorify nature.

Some are in a quest to build a world without taxes,
Because not everything is for sale.
They fly to declare independence
From all agencies that monetize the souls of human beings.

Two lovers and few others,
Carry with them the rebirth of wonder.
Their spirts, filled with light,
Are a proof that the love in our hearts can never be muted.

Some souls are still stuck in the Age of Anxiety
They’ve tried take flight,
But they drop, pulled down by the weight of their fears.
They too will be safe,
As the others will not hit the ground,
Until their stories are heard, 
Until the hope in a better, safer world is restored.  

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

My new poetry book “Love poems: insights into the complicated mystery of love” is available on Amazon. You can get it here. Please write a review if you get around it. I would really appreciate it.

I would like to continue

by Andrada Costoiu

Photo: NASA, free photos

I  would like to continue, until it ends,
Everything ends, doesn’t it? Or maybe it doesn’t…..
Some physicist says that there is no such thing as the past and future,
And that the order of time is not a one-way street.
 
I try to believe him, but I cannot devoid myself of the trace of temporality,
And strangely enough, it doesn’t bother me.
My silent thoughts summon and acknowledge past memories,
And piece by piece, each memory is filled with love, fear, desire or passion.
 
From my smallness I see the footprints of our humanity,
It’s not silent and aimless,
It makes me smile watching how we are all striving and longing to get what we desperately want,
And I can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.
 
We don’t suffer from a tragic misconception of time,
We take what we understand and we strive to understand more.
We have time. Everything that doesn’t work will work one day,
And I would like to continue. 

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2019 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

My new poetry book “Love poems: insights into the complicated mystery of love” is available on Amazon. You can get it here. Please write a review if you get around it. I would really appreciate it.

My poem “A new Gertrude Bell for the Atlantis of the Sands” will appear in the Scarlet Leaf Review

by Andrada Costoiu

Another time, same wind gusts are witness,
to a world of ever changing, uncharted sands of red and tan. 
No tribal conflicts are troubling this place,
The hammer of the modern world has already been cast.

I hear the music of the shifting dunes
Chanting to worlds that have been here long before the present,
With a faint hum, low throated, drum like sealing sound.

Glowing under the moon, the lights of a thousand stars hanging from the sky,
Drench the desert like whiffs of wisdom.
I know, 
That I have lived my entire life in the company of them,
Kneeling together to the same universe,
Feeling the life force.

Some girls wear different hats, 
Mine is to thread the beads of civilization into the eternal loop,
and prove that that nothing disappears into the unknown.
I have been searching to make the Atlantis of the Sands real,
To find the lost city that was forgotten for thousands of years.
I keep planning my route,
And this is certainly the most spectacular adventure of my life.


My feet are aching, for days I’ve been begging for new feet, new arms,
stoic in my quest that I hope to carry through the next day and on.

Tonight, I feel so thirsty,
Drinking water from my canteen, barefoot,
I see my crew stretching, 
The feeble sounds of their hymn sung in unison
Express visions of life that undulate across miles of silent sand.
“We’ll go at first light”, says the main porter,
I nod, 
Knowing that the greatest honor bestowed upon us humans is survival.
Tomorrow is another day,
Neither bound nor free, we will keep walking.

We’re a band of loyal warriors fighting to assemble the puzzle that reveals the truth:
The past, the present, and the future are all connected,
We don’t own time, but we do own our history.

I believe in us,
Nothing is dust in the wind
And our songs will not fade mute.
Ancient flames of light flicker inside us,
Giving us purpose,
We will dive and emerge from the sea currents of time,
And trace past and present trails of human survival and civilization.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2019 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

My new poetry book “Love poems: insights into the complicated mystery of love” is available on Amazon. You can get it here. Please write a review if you get around it. I would really appreciate it.

Because you’re here and you have read it, I’d like to tell you the story behind it. There are actually two stories, one is that of Gertude Bell and the other of a lost city.

I’ve written about Gertude Bell before. There is little written about her, but she was remarkable woman who left traces in our history. She was a misfit, one that naturally went against the stereotyped woman of the early twentieth century.  She was born in England, in 1868, into a wealthy family. Her mother died while when Gertrude was seven years old.She studied at Oxford. In fact, was the first woman to graduate in Modern History at Oxford. A lot of records list her as an archeologist or as a writer, but for me the accent should be put on her travels, on her quest to uncover unknown paths and on her cultural and political power in the Middle East. Her desert odyssey started in 1900 and she travelled across the Arabian desert many times. Many people thought of her as a specie of lunatic British explorer. I think the fact that they underestimated her was her lucky charm.

Her knowledge helped the European powers decide how to carve Arabia after the war. There is a movie made about her and her travels: “Queen of the desert”.

Under the cover of archaeological research, she traveled to Hail, to assess the Rashids, a historic Arabian House who were the most formidable enemies of the House of Saud. I don’t know what she saw or what she said but we all know that Ibn Saud was the one that became the founder of Saudi Arabia. Many say that Gertrude was a spy. I don’t know how I feel about this, I guess if you’re not there, you don’t know the reasons, or if you didn’t read enough, you should not speak. So, I will not speak. I want to highlight her courage rather than the political games. She was also involved and played a big role in the creation of Iraq, she played the role of mediator between the Arab government and British officials and later on she played an important part in the administration of Iraq.

If you want to read more about her, I have written a small article that you can find here: Gertrude Bell at Andrada’s website.

So this is Gertrude’s story. Now, the Gertrude in my poem, it’s a combination between the way I see the real Gertrude and myself. I guess I must have some Indiana Jones DNA because I too, love adventure and I am fascinated by these things.

The second story behind this poem is the one of a lost city of Ubar, or the so called The Atlantis of the Sands. The quest to find this city started early on, in 1930. But it wasn’t until 1992 that they actually found something, that might be remnants of this city. Here is what they said about it :

“In February 1992, The New York Times announced a major archaeological discovery in the following terms: “Guided by ancient maps and sharp-eyed surveys from space, archaeologists and explorers have discovered a lost city deep in the sands of Arabia, and they are virtually sure it is Ubar. When news of this discovery spread quickly around the newspapers of the world, there seemed few people willing or able to challenge the dramatic findings, apart from the Saudi Arabian press. The discovery was the result of the work of a team of archaeologists led by Nicholas Clapp, which had visited and excavated the site of a Bedouin well at Shisr (18° 15′ 47 N” 53° 39′ 28″ E) in Dhofar province, Oman. The conclusion they reached, based on site excavations and an inspection of satellite photographs, was that this was the site of Ubar, or Iram of the Pillars, a name found in the Quran which may be a lost city, a tribe or an area.” A contemporary notice at the entrance to an archaeological site at Shisr in the province of Dhofar, Oman, proclaims: “Welcome to Ubar, the Lost City of Bedouin Legend”.[9]However, scholars are divided over whether this really is the site of a legendary lost city of the sands.

“A contemporary notice at the entrance to an archaeological site at Shisr in the province of Dhofar, Oman, proclaims: “Welcome to Ubar, the Lost City of Bedouin Legend”.[9]However, scholars are divided over whether this really is the site of a legendary lost city of the sands.” Source: Wikipedia

I think it is an interesting story, and there are a lot of resources on the web where you could read more about it.

Socially intimate

by Andrada Costoiu

Walking through the New York Times Square,
I’m utterly in touch with the drama of this space.
A curious dog from a small balcony
Is barking to the crowds that have morphed into ghosts
And now sit around in circles to listen to the beat of spectral drums.

Their fine-tuned acoustics send bass notes of “‘bang”
Every time another human has reached the entrance of the bridge to heaven.
I pass them, still their music rumbling through my soul
In my way to the stump of the Three of Hope.
I’m going to rub its surface asking that a mother will go back to her children,
Asking that the daughter whom I had to zoom last night will see her father again,
Asking for a new choreography in my ward,
That would replace the sad with happy endings. 

I walk, thoughts flood my mind,
I feel alone ….I don’t want to be alone.
How can I cross from socially distance to socially intimate?
I stop thinking about physical nearness as the image of the ghosts gathered to listen to the drum’s concert sends shivers through my spine.
I think about the stump of the Three of Hope and speed up my steps,
If I could only save that mother for her children,
If only that father would go back home to his daughter..

I wrote this poem a few months ago. It is about a doctor in NYC, when the city was in the middle of the pandemic. The Three of Hope actually exists in NYC. And there is a story behind it……

During the 1920s and 1930s, Seventh Avenue in the 130s was nicknamed the Boulevard of Dreams, a stretch of Harlem lined with top theaters and clubs such as the Lafayette Theater and Connie’s Inn. Between these venues was a lone elm tree (see it above) known as the Tree of Hope, bringing good luck to any up-and-coming entertainer who touched it before hitting the stage—as Fletcher Henderson, Ethel Waters, Eubie Blake, and others did.

The tree didn’t last, it was chopped down in 1934. When the tree was cut down in 1934 during the expansion of 7th Avenue, it was cut into logs and sold as souvenirs. A second tree was soon planted but that too met the ax. 

Instead of it now there is a plaque, to remind of the place where the Three of Hope once was.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2019 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

My new poetry book “Love poems: insights into the complicated mystery of love” is available on Amazon. You can get it here. Please write a review if you get around it. I would really appreciate it.

This is so satisfying

by Andrada Costoiu

Today my son received the Oculus. It’s what he wanted for his birthday……

He’s been waiting for it for a while. And then the box arrived.

I was just there while he was taking off the plastic and then opening the box. He looked at me, smiled and said : “Mom, this is so satisfying.”

Kids…..

Remember, that glorious feeling, when you get something nice, maybe something that you dreamed of …….?

Watching him open the box felt as warm as a hot chocolate on a rainy day….

Whatever we call beauty

by Andrada Costoiu

Mirrors that slim down,
That show no wrinkles,
Expensive clothes, 
The perfect bodies,
The perfect abs,
The perfect color of your skin…..

“The perfect” floats everywhere
And is a salient feature of our social story.

Since the earliest days,
Scores of media pundits 
Have created illusions
And broke our minds into thinking 
That their illusions are true.

We all clap together,
At whatever they call beauty,
Across time and space….
Meanwhile, liters of hot tears,
Fall from the eyes of those who do not fit.

Whatever we call beauty?

Have we forgotten 
To shine the magic lanterns into who we really are?
Have we forgotten,
To think in hearts and not in images?

 ****

The bogyman is difference,
Sustaining that sinister, yet profound insight 
Into the cleavages of our societies.
Not everyone can feel everyone’s pain,
But has numbness been accepted and embraced?

Whatever we call beauty?

Have we forgotten pain?
Have we forgoten
Our very first heartbreaks,
And how that made our world feel cold and frightening?

Whatever we call beauty?
Whatever you call beauty?

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2019 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

My new poetry book “Love poems: insights into the complicated mystery of love” is available on Amazon. You can get it here. Please write a review if you get around it. I would really appreciate it.

Mayflies

by Andrada Costoiu

A mayfly rests on a flower,
Waving its tiny wings,
In the air that smells of summer.
Does she know that she only has 24 hours
To create her past and her future? 

My eyes are wide open,
Watching this life,
In the early morning hours.

Fresh tears created by the battles in my heart,
Are running down my cheeks. 

Between ideals and illusions,
I decorated our love “time unsuitable”
And walked the opposite way.

Eros became speechless,
And stared me in the face.
In the spirit of goodwill, 
I explained to him that modern civilization
Allows lovers to say: “we’re right for each other, but just not right now.”

Eros swayed back but I think he genuinely forgave me,
And turning around,
He whispered over his shoulder
“Ah, the unreality of time!”

I didn’t understand what he meant then
But I do now.

My eyes are wide open,
Watching the mayfly,
In the early morning hours.
How much time does she have,
To create her past and her future? 

Born of a goddess, Eros knew,
That the wheel spins the same for mayflies and for humans.
Love now…..
Live now……
Ah, the reality of time…..!

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2019 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

My new poetry book “Love poems: insights into the complicated mystery of love” is available on Amazon. You can get it here. Please write a review if you get around it. I would really appreciate it.

Please master

by Andrada Costoiu

Photo: Image by Helen Marten, for Visual Verse

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) :

Please master

by Andrada Costoiu

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.  

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2019 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

My new poetry book “Love poems: insights into the complicated mystery of love” is available on Amazon. You can get it here. Please write a review if you get around it. I would really appreciate it.


Remember

by Andrada Costoiu

Photo: Fire fighters on scene after the 9/11 attack. Mike Goad/Wikicommons

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. 

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2019 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

My new poetry book “Love poems: insights into the complicated mystery of love” is available on Amazon. You can get it here. Please write a review if you get around it. I would really appreciate it.

My poem “The Artist Prison” has been published by the Literary Yard

Here is the link for the publication: Literary Yard.

The artist’s prison
by Andrada Costoiu

Your fingers are dancing molding the clay,
In shapes that your heart has requested,
Trembling,
Touching with the force and desire of your inmate thoughts,
That promise to become something.

You clothing, covered in the black ash of your past creations,
Is overheating your arms and legs,
Your red and blistered palms are as red and as raw as you feel inside.
You stare for a moment,
The mold that you shaped is delivering confidential information about your soul.

Afraid to share it, you put it in a dark corner of a room,
You grin, willing it safe of peering eyes.

Outside is dark and the gravel sounds under your feet,
You walk away, vulnerable,
Passing and nodding at people,
Hiding your red and blistered palms in your pockets.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2020- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrada Costoiu and a-passion4life.com, 2019 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content