autumn neuroses #poem #poetry

your eyes are young
my breath is heavy
sunflowers vanish in the frost
the tea is boiling
and the cat is purring
it’s autumn in the northern hemisphere
while summer comes on Rio de la Plata

I knew a poet who once said
I want to die unknown on Rio de la Plata
his eyes were old
his arms were strong
I ran to you into the northern hemisphere
and autumn came
to bury me in its neuroses’ mold

your body’s warm
my body’s cold
the room is quiet like a tomb
a nun is kneeling in the street
it’s autumn in the northern hemisphere
while summer comes on Rio de la Plata

@short-prose-fiction

image:  Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]

 

The forgetfulness of summer #short prose #poetry

On my left mountains of passion lost in lunar light.
On my right poetry.
An African violet beats her eyelashes.
Spanish moss lingers on the waters of the Bayou.
The smell of fresh cocoa penetrates my nostrils.
Old wounds crawl on my skin; columns of ants searching for honeydew on a tropical tree.
The forgetfulness of summer.
The silence of a blue lagoon.
You.

@short-prose-fiction

image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]

 

the lonely poetry of night #poem #poetry

trees whisper, cries of cloudy skies
inaudible, unseen,
you, Astraea,
you push me on a long-forgotten trail
the ocean, poisoned, green, unsettled
warm tongues, ecstasies of memories un-lived
defiled the innocence of maiden-stars
tears, corridors of sand
you, universe that dreamt us all
the pain of suffocated myths that die
kisses, floating sanctuaries
Astraea,
you who don’t know desire
burn the nihilism of flesh
the plight
of souls sold for two pennies in slave markets
inside the lonely poetry of night

published in Indian Periodical on January 23, 2019

@short-prose-fiction

image:  Outer Space; Shutterstock; [link]

 

children of the first Amen [autumn] #poem #poetry

we were young when our autumn
came to burn leaves in the park
drunk with iambic pentameters
you called me Beatrice by the old fountain
we floated high in the veined sky
in the clouds we lit a candle
with threads of love we sewed our lips
children of the first Amen
we did not see the rain was coming
like heavy fruits forgotten by a harvester on trees
we fell on the same bench right by the fountain
the autumn burned us
and gale winds
blew our ashes to nowhere

@short-prose-fiction

image:  Aleshyn_Andrei; Shutterstock; [link]

 

the day in which the sun dies #short prose #flash fiction #poetry prose

I lost my name. Yet what sense is it in looking for it? You knew I would do it. You knew I would come back to you: my feet burned, my eyes full of sand, my heart crushed like an empty can of coke, my hands voided like those of King Lear.

It was as easy as you said. One day the celebration of the tree of light would be over, and nobody would dress in black at funerals.

This is that day.

The day in which the sun – eyes bloodshot, rays pale like distant memories – dies in the rose and violet of the sea.

@short-prose-fiction

image: nodff; Shutterstock; [link]

 

the breath of love and death #poem #poetry

emotions leave the wombs of souls 
inebriation
nakedness of pearls forgotten on the shore
inside the warmth of the unknown
the mystery of you is locked
somebody’s wearing yellow, sign of death
doors close
the ocean’s mortuary room
your hands stretch all the waves toward the North
my ankles stuck in sand

hibiscuses bloom in the bed
delusion 
a cat is running outdoors
over the world
the breath of love and death
a verse from you
and then
Pompeian red  

@short-prose-fiction

image: nodff; Shutterstock; [link]