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
“Clara, I did not tell you about the woman who Miguel loved before you.”
“Go ahead Angelo, I can’t wait to hear.”
My eyes pierced into his; in the streets an orange sunset was fighting for its life like a deer caught in the jaws of an enormous anaconda; tired bodies were floating in the middle of the fight; ships on an angry sea.
“Clara, Miguel was in love with a girl born in Buenos Aires. Her name was Helen.
Can you imagine that? Buenos Aires!
The city of Rosas, red ribbons hanging on military uniforms, people screaming death to utilitarianism on every street corner, telluric pampas striving to conquer the city, biting from it…
Ah, I can’t remember the name of the building from which Perón used to speak every year!”
I looked at him in disbelief.
“Angelo, what does Helen have to do with all this? Everything happened long time ago.”
“Oh, but she had a lot to do with…”
*
The sunset lost the battle; the night was breathing satisfied; stretches of a full anaconda digesting its prey.
“Clara, you are not listening anymore!”
“No, I’m not. And if Miguel is not here in five minutes I’ll start singing Don’t cry for me Argentina and strangle you in the middle of the street, Angelo!”
“Ah, you wouldn’t do this, Clara!”
“No? Watch me!”
*
I shivered.
There was no Helen.
Miguel never was in a relationship with a woman named Helen.
What was Angelo trying to tell me?
And where was Miguel?
*
draft
the destiny that calls me
will have to wait tonight
for i am hunting Judas
and i am hunting Brutus
blood boils in my veins
i’m sharpening my arrows
i strangulate the time
i coil around your body
i’m pregnant with desires
the Mount of Olives cries
my hands are fighting lions
the mystery of me
is bursting into fires
listen to the horses gallop in the water
on the edge of autumn
axes of blue passion
intersect your laughter
chestnuts crack the time
heaving their fruits
bake my lips with love
born from sounds of flutes
*
first published in The Literati Mafia
I awake under the cap of a mushroom.
Its spores surround me like stalactites hanging from the ceiling of a cave.
Rubbing his forewings, a cricket chirps.
Is that you calling for me?
I know it’s you. You must be hiding in the grass!
Come out!
Every evening I’ll bathe your body in milk and honey.
Every morning I’ll dress you in a cloak woven from mulberry silk. I’ll grow wings around your ankles, so you can fly above the Himalayas.
Late night I’ll rub ginger oil onto your skin; every stalactite will fall in love with you.
At midnight when the Siamese purrs on my left thigh, I’ll dip my fingers into rose oil and mend your wounds.
We’ll kiss in the fragrance of leaves, roots, and ripened berries.
Why aren’t you answering?
Where are you hiding?
Come out!
my eyes are water wells
mirroring your body
into a time which shrinks
my lips shine on stained glass
windows to the sea
a virgin violin
faints into your lap
sick with jealousy
the summer hangs in trees
seduction
fantasy
Tears from the ankle of an iceberg fell on my body.
They crust on my skin like cold wax on a rack of votive candles.
Seconds hurt like lonely Sundays.
I lie in bed.
A canopy of wild roses scents the air.
My dreams burn like your body used to burn in our nights of love.
I feel you.
The pupils of my eyes dilate under the gravity of time.
Mercury and Venus turn the wheels of love.
Crusts of wax melt on the silky sheets.
Your kisses bloom violet waterlilies on my skin.
I taste figs and wild forest.
The wing of an egret covers us.
The room moves on another parallel.
Is it morning?
Is it Sunday?
Where are you?
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.
A collaboration of poetry and music I did with my dear friend Short-prose-fiction 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 […]
via Love in blue and black – A collab — Despite my deepest thoughts
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
come and watch the dance of Isabella
the rhythm of castanets awakes the moon
her body tilts the oleander axis of the wind
her hips rotate into the autumn of the fires
an iguana stumbles on profuse desires
opening her eyes on Isabella’s chest
your forehead sinks into the sweat of lovers
who step onto the boats which never will return
watch how Isabella dances
wreaths of conquerors at her feet gleam
lizards from forgotten winters
tattoo her body on your skin
and in the shadows of the lips which spin
locked in the mansion by the lake
i love you more than anybody else
yet you don’t know
because for you i’m just a dream
*
first published in The literati mafia
