bullfighter (matador de toros) #poetry

my dress is red
your heart is pounding
the passion of all matadors de toros
is bleeding from your arms into my veins
your eyes flame every soul in Salamanca
your fight is dance
your body burns
the bull is raging
flesh is cracking
roses from my hair fall on your wounds
stars are deaf
eternity is stopping

now i scribble words in lonely Sundays
echoes of bullfights in Salamanca
in the bells’ tolling was our beginning
and in your fight was our end

@short-prose-fiction

image: Fresnel/ Shutterstock

 

i can’t win #poetry

i hang flowers in the trees

i grow hands to heal all wounds

at my feet the forest sings

naked love from Saturn’s rings

rains on poppies in the fields

i move forward

and i mix

boiling teas with saps of passion

i coil laurels on your body

i knit kisses on your lips

yet…

fruits are bursting into blood

winds are choked by mounds of pyre

you’re not here

i can’t win

for the rifle will still fire

 

Love in blue and black – A collab — Despite my deepest thoughts

Poetry and music: a collaboration with my dear friend Ankit 

my love,

i speak to you through centuries of pain

trees are spinning barren branches in the air

when loneliness rains on blue hills

i crush my heart

so yours can still beat

listen

ocean waves embrace the moon’s pale chest

instead of tears

i shed naked pearls

so i can wash the effigy of your acoustic agony

and mend the painful scratches from your skin

with my imaginary fingers

in blue and black the time i bend

and no matter who i am

a human or a spirit

i swear to you

i’ll love you till the end.

 

 

Untranslated Love — Vita Brevis

My poem “Untranslated Love” published in Vita Brevis

give me the stars

that shine under the bridges

where poor children spend their nights

the blood that leaks from wounds of war

when the last piece of bread is turned in tar

 

give me the language of your alabaster gestures

the guilty passion of Tristan for Queen Isolde

the mystery of painted nudes on walls

the cries of nuns under an angel’s lacerated wing

your untranslated love coiled in a tarnished ring

Submitted by short-prose-fiction give me the stars that shine under the bridges where poor children spend their nights the blood that leaks from wounds of war when the last piece of bread is turned in tar give me the language of your alabaster gestures the guilty passion of Tristan for Queen Isolde the mystery […]

via Untranslated Love — Vita Brevis